


Cassiopeia

by Kylia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Hermione Granger, F/F, Fuck J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Murder Mystery, Not Just Dark Wizards, Past Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, She's called Cassiopeia Now, Spite Played A Role In The Publication Of This, The Wizarding World Has Always Accepted Transgender People, Transgender, Transgender Draco Malfoy, Wizards Are Human Too And That Means They Also Have Normal Human Crimes, relatively slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24769687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylia/pseuds/Kylia
Summary: Five years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, Lucius Malfoy - recently released from Azkaban - is found murdered in Diagon Alley. The cause of death? A muggle firearm. Tasked with investigating his murder, Hermione Granger will have to deal with the grieving and angry Malfoy Heir, recently returned to Wizarding Britain. But that heir is no longer Draco Malfoy, Lucius's son, but rather, Cassiopeia Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's daughter.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 50
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. Because if I did, I'd be JKR, and imagine that horrifying fate.
> 
> **Author's Notes:** I have not written Harry Potter fanfic in... years. Many many years and my one effort on that front is, hopefully, nowhere left online anymore. Suffice to say, it wasn't very good. I do however, read HP fanfic - mostly Dramione fic. I read a lot of it. And as a result, I've absorbed and internalized a lot of fanon, fan interpretations, characterizations, subgenre tropes, so on. Just like anyone who reads tons and tons of fics in the same subgenre.
> 
> As a result, I'm all but guaranteed to borrow things from other fics - usually several fics at once - in expanding on the Wizarding World and in writing my story. And usually without any specific memory of which fic the idea originally entered my head. 
> 
> Further, as a rule, I'm going to be pretty fast and loose with any canon outside of the core seven books (not counting the Epilogue, obviously). If it's in the seven books, it's true for this story (unless otherwise stated) and if it's outside the seven - and this includes ancillary material, anything in JKR's tweets about canon, stuff on Pottermore, the wiki, the additional movies in Fantastic beasts, etc - it _might_ be canon, but it might also be just tossed aside. Of course, I'm fully capable of getting details from canon wrong, as opposed to ignoring it. In general, if you feel like my understanding of a canon detail is wrong, or my characterization is off, please, feel free to (politely) let me know, and I will correct as appropriate. A lot of that ancillary canon, especially more recent stuff, either clashes with - as I see it - basic logic or just gets in the way of telling the story I want to tell.  
>   
> I'm also not an expert in British English - I'll do my best to use it right, but I'm sure some Americanisms will seep in. As above, feel free to let me know of any issues.
> 
> This fic idea came from several notions, but the reason it's being written and published now is, in all honesty, spite. JKR decided to double-down on being transphobic, so I decided this fic was happening now, not in the 'hypothetical future'.
> 
> All characters look more or less like people who played them in the films if they appeared in the films at all, with the obvious exception of Cassiopeia Malfoy, who has actress Elle Fanning as a faceclaim.

Cassiopeia

By Kylia

Chapter 1

**April 25th, 2003**

**Ministry of Magic, Level 2**

**Department of Magical Law Enforcement**

A few years ago, Ron had joked that, with the last of the Death Eaters rounded up and imprisoned - or dead - in a now Dementorless Azkaban, he and Harry might be out of a job soon. 

After all, with no Dark Wizards, did you really need Aurors?

Ron hadn't been serious, of course, but even if he had been, that would never have left Hermione out of a job.

_Though sometimes, I wouldn't mind it._ Not that Hermione liked the idea of unemployment, and most of the time, she very much loved working in the Investigation Office of the DMLE. But sometimes...

Not so much.

Setting aside another pile of financial documents, Hermione reached for another. She was certain that she could prove to the satisfaction of the Wizengamot that Matthew Portius was embezzling money from his potion's supply company - if only she could track the money to him. She had followed the trail of shady expenses and strange accounting, but her efforts to get Gringotts to be cooperative had, unsurprisingly, failed.   
  
Crinkling her nose a little, she noted down a few lines on the ledgers and transactions that seemed worth following up on, then kept going. She was halfway down a page, finding several promising aberrant credits and debits when a paper airplane flew into her small office through a slot on the closed down and landed on her desk. She picked up the memo, and frowned. It was short - merely an order from Director Fleetwood to see her in her office in fifteen minutes. There were no details, which told Hermione a lot.

The Director of the Investigation Office did not summon people to her office without details. Frowning at being interrupted, Hermione put the memo down, set a charm to alert her in five minutes - leaving her more than enough time to reach Director Fleetwood's office - and returned to her work. By the time the charm set off, she'd found yet more promising leads - there was a pattern of strange transactions and unusual charges, too much for too little ingredients, all referencing one of three names... which were all nearly anagrams of each other.

A little obvious, but equally, they were spread out enough that it take some very careful examination.

With a very good lead, and the charm alerting her, Hermione set the quill down, grabbed her robes and pulled them on, heading out of her office and towards Fleetwoods. She passed through the lobby for the DMLE along the way, and despite herself, drew up short when she saw the woman standing there, waiting in line to speak with the clerk at the front - Duncan Burns.

The woman was... in a word, stunning. Her long, straight platinum blonde hair was exceedingly familiar, but she didn't look like any Malfoy Hermione ever heard of. She wore a long silver-grey dress - with sleeves that nearly matched her eyes,and while looking somewhat like a formal dress, didn't quite look out of place for simply appearing at the ministry. Her slender features and sharp cheekbones only accentuated her beauty.  
  


A few years ago, Hermione might have hesitated - even in the privacy of her own mind - to call another woman beautiful, but there really was no other word for it, and it wasn't a few years ago. Hermione had, in the first year after the War, come to terms with her own bisexuality, and even dated Pansy Parkinson of all people, until they'd amicably broken up last June. 

Still, never one to stare shallowly, Hermione looked away and started to walk by Burns' desk to continue on to the Director. The woman had so many of the classical Malfoy features - the platinum hair, the cold grey eyes, the sharp features - that Hermione assumed she had to be some relative - a cousin, perhaps. Distant, since she'd never heard of her, but then, Hermione had never paid close attention to pureblood family trees.

The person in front of the suspected Malfoy finished up, and the woman stepped up.

"Name and business in the DMLE today?" Burns asked, more than a little bored with the dull monotony of his work from the day to day. 

"Cassiopeia Malfoy," the woman answered, confirming Hermione's earlier thought, though the name struck her as odd. Weren't names based on astronomy a Black family tradition? Then again, given how often the various pureblood families intermarried, this Malfoy could be named for some Black ancestor. "I'm here to register a legal change of name - and related details with the Administrative Registration Department" There was something about the voice and the slight drawl to it that seemed distinctly familiar, but Hermione dismissed it.

Seeing - and hearing - a Malfoy had her thinking about the one she went to Hogwarts with.

"And what is your current legal name, for the records?" Burns asked.

The woman - Cassiopeia - let out a soft sigh for a moment, before saying quietly - though not so quietly that Hermione didn't catch it: "Draco Malfoy."

Now Hermione did stare, and it was all she could do to not blurt the name out loud in her surprise - on multiple levels. _Malfoy?_ Wizarding England hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Malfoy heir since his trial before the Wizengamot. Thanks in large part to Harry's testimony, and the actions of his mother to save Harry's life at the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy - Cassiopeia Malfoy now, obviously - had been let off without any time in Azkaban, unlike the recently released Lucius Malfoy. 

_Wherever Draco went... well, she obviously became Cassiopeia there._ That was almost as shocking, though it wasn't hard to guess what had happened, now that she knew Cassiopeia Malfoy was the same person who _had_ been Draco, but was no longer. 

"Down that hall, Room 13, on the left," Burns gestured, and Cassiopeia Malfoy nodded, stepping past the desk - and Hermione realized that to get to the proper hallway, Malfoy had to walk past her. 

She'd obviously noticed Hermione's staring, and met Hermione's eyes, a note of defiant challenge obvious in her eyes, but it lacked the arrogant disdain for her very existence she'd seen for most of the time she'd known Malfoy at Hogwarts. Though he hadn't had it for most of those last two years.

"Do you need a camera, Granger?" 

Hermione shook her head and cleared her throat. "No - sorry. I... I was just surprised. I hadn't realized you were back in England. Or that you were Cybelan."

"I only just got back a few hours ago, though I suspect it will find it's way all over the Prophet's front page in time for tomorrow's printing," Malfoy noted with a hint of scorn. "And I don't see why you would have. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you know the word, reading as much as you do. Is that a problem, Granger? I know it's not always that popular with the Muggles. Or some muggleborns."

"It's not a problem for me, no, Malfoy." Hermione assured her, trying to avoid rising to Malfoy's challenging tone. It seemed almost as though she was looking for a fight, but Hermione had to get to the Director's office, and on this issue, she had nothing to fight with Malfoy about at all. "As I said, I was just surprised. But I need to meet with my boss, and you did come here for a reason so... good day," she added, for the sake of politeness. 

She had no real grievances with Malfoy anymore, but it wasn't likely they were ever going to be friendly, and they certainly weren't now. Stepping to the side to get out of the other woman's way, Hermione then continued on to Director Fleetwood's office. 

There were many ways that Wizarding Society was antiquated - the continued practice of arranged marriage among pureblood elites, the 15 hereditary seats in the Wizengamot, which held far more real power than the House of Lords - and even the Monarchy itself -did in Muggle England these days, the various remnants of feudal oaths and contracts underlying many of the laws and obligations the Ministry had inherited from the earlier Wizards' Council, and of course, the resistance any technology more modern than the radio.

She was still a bit surprised that wizards had gone for that, given that they continued to cling to quills, rather than at least move on to fountain pens.

But as she'd studied more on wizarding culture over the years, she'd learned in some ways, Wizarding Britain - and many wizarding communities across the world, really - was far more forward thinking than Muggle Britain, and had been for many centuries. Being not heterosexual had never been censured or banned or condemned in any way in Wizarding Britain, and even more progressive, if oddly antiquated, was the Wizarding notions of 'Cybelan' and 'Iphisian'. In muggle terms, transgender woman and transgender men, respectively.

As she walked, she considered both terms again, since they were at the forefront of her mind. Cybelan's origins as a term, as far as Hermione had been able to gather, began as a reference to the clergy of the ancient fertility goddess Cybele, who, even in Muggle accounts of history were noted to have been individuals born as men who, when entering Cybele's priesthood, castrated themselves and adopted female names, dress, and identifiers. 

Iphisian could also be traced to antiquity, which made sense, given the latinate origins of most spells used in Wizarding Europe.

The legend of Iphis, as told in Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ was the tale of a young woman, who had been raised as a boy and then a man by her mother to trick her father who had wanted a son, begging the gods to turn her into the man she'd been raised as so she could follow through on the marriage to the beautiful Ianthe that had been arranged for 'him'. The gods ultimately granted Iphis's prayers, making Iphis into a man so the marriage could take place.

When she'd learned about both of these terms, Hermione had tried to find out why those terms were the ones used in Wizarding society - in Britain and most other western and central European countries - but while she'd found several theories, both terms had been part of the lexicon for so long, no one knew.

Regardless, though, transgender people - even if Wizards didn't use that term - had always been accepted as their proper gender, as their new name and new identity. The series of potions required to affect transition were somewhat expensive, due to the rare ingredients and the skill needed to brew them, but not prohibitively so.

And certainly would not have been so for Malfoy.

_She must have transitioned while... wherever she was._ Hermione was, despite herself, a bit curious when and how that had happened, but it was hardly her business, and she was only curious because she was still in the moment of the revelation.

While dating Pansy, Hermione had asked one night, out of idle curiosity, if she'd known where Malfoy had vanished off to. She had, but Pansy had said it wasn't her information to tell.

_Though... now that I think about it, she did hesitate a bit before saying the name 'Draco'._

Hermione's somewhat rambling thoughts were interrupted when she found herself in front of the door to Director Fleetwood's office, and she knocked twice, lightly, shaking her head a touch and trying to focus.

"Come in," the Director said. Hermione entered, and the stern bespectacled face of the Director of Investigations looked up at her. Director Fleetwood was a no-nonsense sort of woman, and had always emphasized the need for rigorous attention to detail and evidence - 'gut' feelings might be the norm in the Auror office, but in Fleetwood's department, not even close.

Which was one of the many reasons Hermione enjoyed working under her.

"You asked for me, Director?" Hermione asked, waiting for an invitation to seat herself in the chair across from the older woman - the Director was one for that sort of proper formality in professional environments, and Hermione could appreciate it's utility, even if it did sometimes feel a bit suffocating.

But it was worth putting up with it.

"I did. Have a seat," she gestured, and Hermione complied. "What I'm about to tell you is - for now - information that cannot, under any circumstances, be spread to anyone who does not already know, or does not absolutely _need_ to know." 

Curiosity piqued, Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"Lucius Malfoy was found murdered yesterday afternoon in Horizon Square," the Director said, giving it to her directly, without preface or warning. Hermione blinked for a moment, processing the information. Horizon Square was a new residential and business region being added onto Diagon Alley - the Second Wizarding War had seen a number of homes and businesses outside Diagon Alley destroyed, and many Wizarding families that had been happy to exist separate and apart from others, content to be connected via floo and apparition, were more interested in living close to wizarding neighbors now. It was an inward looking mindset, fostered by the loss and devastation of the war.

Of course, large parts of it were still being developed or built, and yet to be sold.

Lucius Malfoy, by all rights, should still have been in prison. Even after he surrendered to protect his wife and - daughter. He'd turned Minister's evidence on every Death Eater and sympathizer he could, and voluntarily surrendered several dark artifacts that had been sealed in the Malfoy Vault for centuries, as well as many others that had been hidden around the family's estate. Things no auror would ever have been likely to find. 

And so he'd been released from prison six months ago, though his wand was still heavily monitored and restricted, and of course... he'd made enemies, for switching sides at the last minute. The Death Eaters might all be in prison or otherwise addressed, but there were people who agreed with them, even if they kept that hidden now. And the family members of those he betrayed...

Not to mention anyone who had lost lives to him or other Death Eaters.

_Six months out of Azkaban and now he's dead._ Hermione's breath hitched a moment as another realization came to mind.

_Lucius Malfoy died yesterday, and now his daughter returns from five years abroad_. 

No wonder Malfoy was looking for a fight, if her father had just been murdered.

"I assume you're telling me this because you want me to investigate?" Hermione asked, though she knew what the answer likely was.

"Correct," the Director nodded. She grabbed a well ordered portfolio off the side of her desk and handed it to Hermione. Hermione accepted it and placed it on her lap. Hermione bit her lip a moment, trying to process this - as much being handed what was going to be a very high profile murder investigation.

Director Fleetwood had never shown Hermione any particular special treatment as a result of her fame or her association with Harry Potter or even the fact that she was on good terms with Minister Shaklebolt. 

She'd only been working in Investigations for just over three years now. 

_And why am I being told now, almost a day later? Why wouldn't this be handed over to whichever Investigator had first arrived on the scene?_

"Director - why me? There have to be other, more qualified investigators, specially for a case like this. Not that I think I couldn't -" Hermione started, but the Director raised her and and Hermione stopped, letting her boss speak.

"There are others. Indeed, Richard MacMillan was the first one called in after the body was found. I'm handing this case because I believe you more than capable of handling it... and because the murder was not at all... conventional." There was something odd about the hesitance on the Director's part - apart from the fact that the woman was never one to beat about the bush.

"Unconventional?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That's rather vague, madam Director."

"True. But it's also why this needs to be kept quiet for now. Lucius Malfoy was not killed by magic. He was killed by muggle weaponry. A gun, to be exact." She gestured to the portfolio. "First folder, top of the pile."

_A gun._ Hermione blinked, her mind racing. _It couldn't be a muggle - not in Horizon Square. And I can't imagine most purebloods would be capable of thinking to use a gun, let alone knowing how to get one, legally or illegally_. Which at least suggested to rule out a vengeful Death Eater sympathizer of pureblood supremacist, the immediate culprit Hermione's mind would have lept to as a first suspect to look into.

Opening the folder, Hermione took out a photograph, and swallowed, seeing the black and white image of Lucius Malfoy laying on the ground, blood staining his robes, what could only be a bullet hole in his stomach. _That would have been lingering. Painful._ It suggested that whoever had done it - if they knew it was unlikely to kill him immediately - wanted Lucius Malfoy to suffer. Pure speculation - she'd need a lot more to say that with any certainty, but that was the first thought that went to her mind.

"I understand you've been making studies into muggle... phoremsac science? The ways they examine evidence at a crime scene? And developing ways the same techniques can be performed with magic?"

"Forensic," Hermione corrected almost instinctively. "And... yes... I have. But it's all theory, right now. Nothing proven to work in the magical world." Not to mention her extracurricular research hardly qualified as the equivalent of a degree or gave her proper expertise, no matter how much she knew. As she'd done her various experiments and studies, Hermione had toyed with the idea of actually going to Muggle University to study the subject directly.

"Miss Granger, in a perfect world, I'd agree with you. If you felt it was ready to come to me with, you would have. Unfortunately, a prominent and well connected - even now, after his trial and imprisonment - pureblood wizard is dead, killed by a muggle weapon. You can imagine the hysteria that could emerge from this. Most wizards that spend their lives in wizarding society are only loosely aware of just how deadly modern muggle weapons can be." She pursed her lips, inhaled sharply.

"I'll admit, I'd rather wish I wasn't as aware as I am," she added. "Given how badly outnumbered our kind is, it's a rather terrifying reality."

Hermione _could_ imagine the hysteria. Even among her fellow muggleborns, there'd be a great deal of fear. The Statute of Secrecy had been put in place to protect Wizards from dangerous muggles, and now the ability of dangerous muggles to hurt Wizards had increased tenfold. 

_What would happen if muggles tried to bomb Hogwarts? Could they?_ Hermione didn't know, but it was a worrying thought, though one that she was unlikely - thank Merlin - to ever have any risk of having to learn the truth of one way or the other.

But if this got out in the wrong way, then everyone in Wizarding England would learn about everything they weren't paying attention to. She dreaded what could happen if pureblood families - even the 'blood traitors' learned about nuclear weapons. _That_ would induce a panic worse than any other, she feared. What sort of panic was the question, but none of the answers that rose to her mind were good ones.

"His body is still under preservation spells for examination, so you can examine it directly. Macmillan will be at your disposal to answer any questions you have about the report and witness statements he gathered."

"Do all of these witnesses know?" She couldn't imagine keeping this silent for long if most of them didn't.

"Only the one who found the body, and I don't think Herr Holzmade really grasped what he was seeing." The director explained. "One of Lucius Malfoy's business partners. The details are in there."

Hermione nodded. She had a great deal of reading to do, and not a lot of time to do it. 

"This is our highest priority. If you need the assistance of anyone else in-office, I'll assign them to you," the Director went on. "But until we have a better idea of who killed Lucius Malfoy, and why, I want the cause of his death kept as close to the chest as possible."

Hermione nodded again. "Is there anything else, Director?"

"Nothing that's not in the files I gave you, no. You'll probably read everything there faster than I could explain all the details," she explained, and Hermione nodded. She was probably right, which explained why the Director was handing this case off to her without giving her a full briefing, if there was a lot to explain. And if it was sensitive.

Hermione nodded, "Then I suppose I'll get started." First things first, she'd have to look Lucius Malfoy's body, then read over everything the Director had handed her - and then she'd have to speak with Narcissa and Cassiopeia Malfoy. Cassiopeia may have just returned to Britain, but she had presumably stayed in touch with her family. Narcissa would probably have a better idea.

The problem was, there had to be a lot of people, on both sides of the war that wanted Lucius Malfoy dead. Death threats against the families of now imprisoned or killed Death Eaters, or others who were associated with - rightly or wrongly - with the forces of Voldemort, were not unknown. 

But Hermione couldn't let herself leap to any conclusions. Especially since she didn't like where the conclusions she was leaping to led. Then she stood.

"One question, actually," she added, before leaving the Director's office. "What should I do about the Matthew Portius case?" The Director furrowed her brow a moment, obviously trying to remember the details of that case, then she nodded.

"It's not particularly time sensitive, as I recall, correct?"

"It's not particularly, no," Hermione agreed.

"Then put it aside, and I'll see who it can be handed off to if matters come to that," the Director ordered.

"Understood." Hermione nodded to the Director and left her office after a nod back of dismissal. 

_First things first, the body._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, HP isn't mine. Unfortunately, it belongs to the world's richest victim (if you believe her).

Cassiopeia

By Kylia

Chapter 2

**April 25th, 2003**

**Malfoy Manor**

Ducking under a swing from her opponent, Cassiopeia thrust out her blade, connecting with their leg, the sword clanging against the armor, and the spells on the training room marked her a point as she rolled to the side and jumped up in time to avoid a slash right where she'd been before. 

_I need to make this thing better at fighting. Make it a real challenge._

Cassiopeia had always been planning to dig this suit of armor out of storage in one of the Manor's vaults when she came back to England, but it was proving to be quite disappointing, its swings predictable and it's footwork pathetic. Thrusting out, she hit its hand, spun and then it's wrist, a blow that could have slice right through the bone under other circumstances. The training room acknowledged that, and the suit of armor 'lost' it's hand, as the hand holding it's blade stopped working, leaving it defenseless save trying to dodge - but being as predictable as it was, it was a matter of shortwork for Cassiopeia to drive her sword, point first, against the armor's chest, 'stabbing' it, and the armor stopped moving entirely, defeated.

Cassiopeia pulled back, breathing heavily, looking down at her arms, the light sheen of sweat on them. Her whole body was heated too.

"Well, maybe it was a bit more effort to beat that than I thought," she murmured, walking to the wall and leaning the sword against it. This too, she'd had to take out of a vault, though not the same one as the suit of armor. 

She grabbed the goblet of iced pumpkin juice on the small table by the door and took a small sip, letting the cool liquid wash over her tongue. 

"Are you done with the brute violence then, Cassiopeia?" Her mother asked. Cassiopeia looked up at her mother, standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her. As she almost always did, her mother looked flawless - perfectly composed, no signs of the grieving and mourning, the tears. Her makeup and her iron control of her emotions - always the best of the family, even more so than Father's...  
  
Well, Narcissa Malfoy was known as a Cold Beauty and an Ice Queen for a reason, even in Wizarding America. 

"Not especially," Cassiopeia said, unable to remove the bite from her tone. "Not when it isn't working.: Her frustrations were not even remotely worked out or lessened. Perhaps, given the nature of them, it shouldn't be surprising, but still. She sipped at her juice again, looking at her mother. "Sorry," she murmured. "I'm just..."

She closed her eyes and inhaled. "I'm just still having trouble believing it." She looked down at the ground. 

"And hitting a suit of armor is going to help?" Her mother asked, in a softer tone. "Is that what you've been doing in America?" She chuckled softly, approaching her daughter. 

"Usually it works out whatever I'm frustrated about." Cassiopeia murmured. "At least a little. Or at least exhausts me, if I go at it long enough." She looked away, "but nothing changes that Father is dead." She had cried her tears for her father when she got the news. She might cry again, at the funeral, or at some remembrance of her father. She hoped not.

Cassiopeia knew many others thought of herself and her family as cold, emotionless... uncaring. But being reserved was in her nature, ultimately. Especially since the war. It was taught at a young age to all Malfoys, and her mother had the same habits. 

_Father wouldn't be angry at me for crying at his death, but he would prefer that I uphold being a proper Malfoy._ And Cassiopeia would prefer it to. She'd prefer to remember her father that way, than with tears and open grief.

"No... nothing changes that," her mother murmured in turn. She wrapped her arms around Cassiopeia's shoulders, pulling her in for a momentary hug, pulling back and looking at her face for a long moment, pulling back. "I wish something did. But somehow..." she blinked a few times, eyes glistening a moment as she paused to take a breath. "We'll have to manage without him."

Cassiopeia nodded, stepping away, looking to the window. "I hated him so much, that first year. Or at least... I was so angry at him." She'd left England without even saying goodbye to her father, only speaking to him at a visit to Azkaban a year later at the urging of her mother, and beginning a genuine correspondence. But the visit she'd been planning for a few weeks from now would have been the first time she'd be actually seeing her father when he wasn't behind bars.

So much for that.

"I don't think it's really made it through my head. When I went down to the vaults ,I kept expecting to hear him behind me, asking what I was doing." She turned to face her mother. "Merlin, what am I saying you-"

"It's no easier for me,Cassiopeia... it won't be for some time, I've no doubt. I've walked by his study three times today, expecting to hear him there, working." She admitted, shoulders slumping a little. 

"I'm sorry, mother." Cassiopeia walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, saying nothing more. She didn't need to say more, and her mother didn't need to hear more. After a few moments, Cassiopeia removed her hand and inhaled sharply. "How much longer until the Ministry allows us to announce his death?" She asked. "Or for that matter, until I can tell Blaise, Theo and Pansy about it?" Her three closest friends in Wizarding England - though in the case of Blaise, that perhaps said more about her limited social circle in this country, given the rivalrous nature of their relationship.

"Soon, hopefully. Your father may have left extensive instructions in his will regarding property, disbursements, legal matters, but... typical of him, he didn't leave any real instructions on his funeral." She shook her head. 

"And I'm sure your will has your funeral planned to the smallest detail," Cassiopeia smiled slightly. Her mother's events and parties had once been the most sought after events in Wizarding England, and she'd always been a meticulous planner when it came to them. And while they were less popular in recent years, she'd still held as many, working to repair the family's tattered reputation, maintaining the social circles, expanding them where she could. 

"Of course. I wouldn't think to let your father - or Merlin forbid, _you_ \- plan something that important," Narcissa allowed herself a soft laugh. There was no heat in her tone. "I shudder to think what will happen if your future wife is as disinterested in event planning and parties as you are. If you had your way, you'd never have attended a single Christmas Gala."

"Well, that's why they have event planners." Cassiopeia suggested, smiling even more at the aghast look on her mother's face - well, slightly widened eyes and the mild frown that she knew from experience was 'aghast' for Narcissa Malfoy. 

"An event planner? For a Malfoy event? Even your father wouldn't be -" she started, then caught herself, blinking several times quickly as she went on, as if not missing a beat "wouldn't have been so gauche." 

"Of course he wouldn't have," Cassiopeia agreed. "But he had you. And he was interested in playing the social and political games one plays at those sorts of things." Cassiopeia, on the other hand...

Well, it wasn't as if she didn't have ambitions to help continue her mother's efforts to continue to rehabilitate the family name and preserve and grow the family fortune with shrewd investments and the like, but politics held no attraction for her. It might not be the contact sport You Know Who had turned it into anymore, but the War had left Cassiopeia utterly disinterested in trying to change or direct Wizarding Society, in any direction. Wizarding England could survive without the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy pulling strings and paying bribes behind the scenes for a generation or two.

Her mother looked at her, probably pondering to make the case that Cassiopeia shouldn't continue to be so resolved to abandon the game of influence and politics, but obviously, she decided against it.

Instead, she changed topic entirely, looking at the sword Cassiopeia had momentarily set aside, then blinked. "Is that the family crest on the base of the blade?"

"It is," Cassiopeia walked over to the blade and picked it up, flipping the blade with ease in her grip to hold it out, hilt first towards her mother so she could see the black and green crest, the stylized dragons on the side and the equally stylized M in the center. It even had the family motto - _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ \- engraved into the base in miniscule writing.

Not that 'Purity always conquers' was really a correct statement, or one she really wanted on the sword, family motto or not.

Cassiopeia was considering getting that part removed, though finding someone skilled enough that she them she trusted with the Malfoy Sword was going to more difficult, as swords had fallen out of favor in Wizarding England centuries ago. 

"The Malfoy Sword, weilded by Armand Malfoy when he came over with William the Conqueror," Cassiopeia explained. "The last Malfoy to touch it or hold it before me was Julius, my great-grandfather." By that point, of course, Julius Malfoy was seen as a bit... eccentric for his fondness for swords. But no one actually said it to his face, of course.

"Lucius never mentioned it," her mother said, touching the blade for a moment. "Though I suppose I'm not surprised he didn't. Swords weren't exactly of interest to him."

"As you say, too much brute violence. Though I disagree. There is an elegance to the blade. Every respectable wizard and most witches used to be quite familiar with them, before the Statute of Secrecy."  
  
"I see," Narcissa let Cassiopeia pull the sword back. "Do you have specific intentions with it?"

 _Run through whoever killed Father._ Cassiopeia kept that thought to herself, though. As appealing as private justice for her father was on a very basic, visceral level, it was an impulse she had no desire to act on.

"Not particularly. I've considered attempting to sponsor swordplay as a competitive passtime, bring it back, as it is among many in America." Which was where she'd picked it up in the first place. Wizarding America had picked up swordplay again a few decades ago, and it had spread like wildfire among the elites and the common wizard and witch alike as a sport - competitions and contests of skill were quite common.

Before she could say anything else, there was a small popping sound as one of the manor's house elves - Nipsy - arrived into the room.

"Nipsy is begging pardon to be interrupting Mistress Narcissa and Misstress Cassiopeia, but there is a Witch from the Ministry at the gate, requesting entry."

_The investigator, no doubt._

"She confirmed her credentials for you?" Nipsy nodded, "Well then, let her in. Send her to the drawing room, and tell her we will be there shortly," her mother instructed. "And bring tea for three."

"Of course," Nipsy bowed and disappeared again. Cassiopeia looked down at herself - she was wearing a thin shirt and pants, fine for training, but not exactly suited for speaking with visitors, even if they were just here to speak about her father's murder.

Appearances must be maintained.

"Odd. Investigator Macmillan was the one who first... informed me of Lucius's death and called me to the Ministry to... to identify him." The pause there was almost unnoticeable, and Cassiopeia only heard it because she knew her mother so well. "I suppose the case was handed over to someone else, or perhaps more than one person has been assigned to it." she mused, dismissing the questions inherent with a casual flick of her wrist.

"I'll meet you both in the drawing room then," Cassiopeia nodded, finishing her pumpkin juice and setting it on the table, leaving it for one of the house elves to fetch later. She departed, making her way for the East Wing and her chambers.

A few cleaning charms did away with the sweat from her sparring session with the armor, and after stripping off her clothing, she quickly settled on a dark green blouse, and a black skirt, as well as heeled shoes, though only a small one in this case. 

Cassiopeia looked herself over in the mirror, smiling. 

She'd never realized how truly uncomfortable she'd felt in the clothing she'd worn growing up until she finally had had something to contrast it to, when she'd begun to have an inkling that she might just be Cybelean.

 _If not for the War and everything that came with it, I might have realized much sooner._ The return of You Know Who, the breakout from Azkaban and a whole host of Death Eaters moving into the manner had put quite the crimp on any opportunity for self-realizations like that. 

Spending too much time imagining what the last three years of her schooling would have been like had there been no Second Wizarding War was a path Cassiopeia didn't like to spend too much time wandering down, so after deeming her change of clothing suitable, she made her way to the drawing room, arriving to her mother already there, and the witch from the Ministry... not.

"Where is she?" Cassiopeia looked around.

"Here," a very familiar voice - one she'd heard for the first time in years just hours ago - said from the doorway. Cassiopeia stiffened as she turned to look at Hermione Granger - the witch, wearing ministry robes, and with a portfolio of papers and documents tuckedunder one arm, looked much the same as she had at Hogwarts, albeit older. Her hair seemed just as difficult to tame as it always had. Though, now that she had a chance to look the other woman over in more detail, it seemed Granger had managed to grow into making it work for her in ways she hadn't before.

"Miss Granger," her mother said, "I didn't realize you had been assigned to my husband's case."

"I have been," Granger nodded. 

"Perhaps we could move this to the lounge instead, Mother, Granger?" Cassiopeia quickly interjected. The Drawing Room may have looked nothing like it had five years ago, but it was still the room where Granger had been tortured by her Aunt.  
  
Even as she thought of that moment, the memories of it, burned into her brain, flashed through the forefront of her mind, and it was only though long practice at controlling her expression she didn't react to them physically.

Granger, on the hand, was quite stiff, and looking a touch pale, her free hand balled into a tight fist that she seemed to force by will alone to open when she realized it was closed into a fist.

"A capital idea," her mother agreed quickly. Nipsy arrived, hovering a tea tray with cups, a pot and biscuits in front of her.

"Apologies, Nipsy," Cassiopeia said to the house elf, noticing Granger's expression of confusion and surprise as she apologized . "We've decided to move things to the lounge. If you could -"

"Of course Mistress Cassiopeia," Nipsy popped away with the tray, and Cassiopeia looked to Granger. "This way," she said walking towards the doorway Granger was standing in. Her former schoolmate stepped aside, and they went down the hall and into the lounge, quite a bit smaller than the drawing room, though still, like every room in the manor, spacious and well-appointed. Nipsy was there, landing the tray gently on the low, long table between the chairs.  
  
"Thank you Nipsy," Cassiopeia nodded. "We'll call if we need anything." Nipsy bowed and vanished, and Cassiopeia took a seat in one of the chairs, gesturing for Granger to sit on the couch, as her mother arrived and sat in another of the chairs.

"My apologies for that, Miss Granger," her mother said softly. "As I said, I had no idea it would be you coming."

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Malfoy," Granger assured her. Unsurprisingly, the brunette had looked with some discomfort at Nipsy delivering the tea tray. _I suppose she's still not over her 'House Elves are slaves' crusade._ When she'd heard about 'S.P.E.W.' while at Hogwarts, Cassiopeia and her friends had had quite a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Let me first say that I am sorry for your loss," Granger told them both, sounding surprisingly sincere. "I can't promise you that I'll find Lucius Malfoy's killer, nor that I will find them quickly," she added. "I wish I could, but I try not to make promises that I might not be able to keep."

Her mother inhaled, then, with a wave of her wand, poured a cup of tea and floated cup and saucer overto herself, taking a careful sip of the tea.

"I appreciate your honesty," her mother said after a moment. "Perhaps, to start, you could tell me how my husband was killed. Investigator Macmillan was quite vague on the details of how exactly he.." she paused another moment, quite uncharacteristic, and then, "bleed so much. I saw no signs of any cutting spell I'm familiar with."

Cassiopeia watched Granger's expression, the other witch grimacing a moment, squirming a touch in her seat.

"I imagine Investigator Macmillan was vague for several reasons," Granger said, clearly choosing her words carefully. "He wasn't killed by any spell, nor by a means that many wizards or witches would be familiar with." She poured herself a cup of tea, though without using magic, and took a small sip, making a small noise of appreciation at the well-brew drink, before continuing.  
  


"He was shot with a gun," Granger said after a moment. 

_Gun._ Something about the word rattled around in Cassiopeia's mind, but she couldn't place it. It was familiar sounding, but...

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that that doesn't particularly enlighten me," her mother spoke first. 

"I imagined that would be the case.... Director Fleetwood has asked me to keep this close to the chest, but you two deserve to know the details." Granger said after a moment. "A gun is a muggle weapon."

 _A muggle weapon? A muggle killed - no, impossible, he died in Horizon Square._ Cassiopeia's mind raced at the idea. Muggles couldn't enter Diagon Alley or anything connected to it outside of the company of a wizard or witch. 

"How -how exactly - how would that be possible? Father had his wand, and he could have raised a shield charm against anything so mundane-" Cassiopiea said quickly, trying not to sneer at the idea of a _muggle_ weapon hurting her father. It seemed so impossible.

"Well, it's very likely he had no idea what it was," Granger pointed out. She opened the portfolio and pulled out a photograph, handing it to Cassiopeia. It was of a muggle, standing in profile to the camera, raising up some sort of metal device, a rectangle with handles and bits coming out of it, and then doing something with it -

The image flashed as light and some sort of blurring motion and what looked almost like flames could be seen at one end of the device.

"A gun, put simply, is a weapon that propels a small piece of metal very, very quickly - sometimes over two thousand feet per second - and into a target. They can be... quite deadly, moving at such speeds." Granger explained. 

_Two thousand-_ Cassiopeia tried to think about that. She certainly understood that the faster something moved, the more force behind the impact - you couldn't play Quidditch and not understand that. She looked at the picture again, trying to understand how something so... odd looking could do that.

Her mother blinked, staring at Granger. "That simply cannot be, Miss Granger. No muggle would be capable of moving anything so quickly from something so small." Cassiopeia could hear the knee-jerk rejection of the idea inherent in her mothers voice, and it was mirroring the one she was feeling herself. But she hadn't vocalized it for the simple fact that she doubted Granger would have lied or been mistaken about how such a device worked.

_Merlin, she could have seen these devices at work growing up in the muggle world._

"It's very possible, Mrs. Malfoy." Granger replied calmly. "Even when the Statute of Secrecy was passed in 1692, muggles had guns, though they were significantly more primitive." She took the photograph back and put it back in the portfolio. "Without spending too much time explaining the science behind it, guns use certain chemicals,which, when combined, explode with great force, propelling the bullet from the gun at high speeds. It is not magic, simply chemical reactions. Like a potion."

"The Ministry likes to keep the existence and deadliness of guns under wraps, even those who are aware of them, which many are not. I'm going to have to ask you keep the nature of Lucius Malfoy's death quiet, for the time being."

Cassiopeia didn't have to think long to understand the Ministry's logic. Even a poorly trained duelist could have taken on a dozen muggles without much risk when the Statue of Secrecy had been passed. But there were many more than a dozen muggles per witch or wizard. And that disparity had only grown, she knew that just by any pass through any part of a Muggle city for even the briefest of moments.

And centuries ago, it had been torches, pitchforks, swords, axes... and apparently these 'more primitive' guns Cassiopeia had never heard of.

Despite herself, Cassiopeia felt her chest tight, a sudden, instinctive _fear_ gripping at her, as she realized what this meant, how outnumbered they were, against muggles with the weapons that worked as Granger said.

 _The Statute of Secrecy is needed even more now..._

Never before in her life had Cassiopeia been so thankful for the Obliviators.

She could imagine the panic that might spread...

And how some people might start to wonder if You Know Who might have had the right idea.

"I won't tell anyone else," Cassiopeia confirmed after a moment to take a breath. "I have to ask... if my father was killed by a muggle weapon, does that mean you believe-"

"That a muggleborn killed him?" Hermione interrupted. "While I have no evidence to support that theory or any other, it seems the most likely answer, especially given..." Granger trailed off, obviously hesitating to say it.

"Especially given how many muggleborns have every reason to hate him and wish him dead," Cassiopeia finished. "You can say it, Granger. He was my father, but many hated him... and with reason." She hated to say that, but it was undeniably true.

Finally, her mother managed to find her voice again, and she spoke, "Given that, it seems to me that the faster you proceed, the faster you'll be able to narrow down the list of suspects," she said stiffly, formally. "Ask what questions you came to ask."

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. I suppose the first thing I'd like to ask is if you, your family, or your husband received any death threats recently?" Granger asked softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine. You know, because I'm not an entitled billionaire who freaks out the moment people don't agree with her.

Cassiopeia

By Kylia

Chapter 3

**April 25th, 2003**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. I suppose the first thing I'd like to ask is if you, your family, or your husband received any death threats recently?" The question sounded a little absurd even as it left her lips. Given the number of people who hated the Malfoy family, the number of threats would probably be quite substantive.

"Specifically since your husband was released from Azkaban?" She added, since he had been the target. _At least the killer decided to go for the one most at fault._ Hermione held back a wince at that thought - it made her sound like she was excusing Lucius Malfoy's murder, which she very much was not!

And it was very possible the killer hadn't actually been so kind as to leave an obvious clue like a death threat behind before killing Lucius Malfoy.

But it was the best place to start.

"Quite a few. Quite a few howlers - most of which I assume were also death threats or the like- but I have those disposed of without opening them," Narcissa Malfoy answered calmly. "Even if you do open them, they tend to dispose of themselves, after all."

"True." Hermione nodded. "Did you or your husband report any of the death threats?" It was technically illegal to send a death threat by owl-post, even if that law rarely led to even fines.

"No. Neither Lucius nor I took them particularly seriously," Narcissa admitted.

"Mother!" Cassiopeia looked at her mother, shocked, eyes wide for a moment, "Neither - neither of you mentioned anything about-"

"Cassiopeia, death threats aren't exactly new to the Malfoy family. Your father received dozens of them after the First Wizarding War." Hermione had to admire Narcissa's ability to keep a controlled expression. If she didn't understand that among elite purebloods like the Malfoys and the Blacks, composure was the most important thing to maintain, especially around outsiders, she might have thought Narcissa's demeanor suggested she didn't mourn her husband at all. 

But Hermione knew better.

"Lucius didn't think that they mattered, and I agreed." Narcissa finished, putting her tea down on the table, rather than taking any more sips. "I suppose you'd like those letters we received?"

"It would be helpful, yes," Hermione nodded. 

"Nipsy?" Narcissa called out, and the house elf in question appeared with a quiet pop.   
  
"Yes Mistress Narcissa?" 

"Fetch the letters Lucius stored in the black and silver box in his study," Narcissa instructed, and Nipsy nodded, vanishing again. 

Hermione sipped at her tea again, about to ask another question when Nipsy returned, several sheets of parchment in hand. Narcissa took them from the house elf.

"Thank you Nipsy. You can return to your other duties." Nipsy vanished again, off to do Merlin knew what for her Malfoy masters. Hermione stared at where the elf had been for a moment, but she didn't say anything.

This wasn't the time, or the place, and as much as she hated it, house elves - most of them - didn't want freedom. She was convinced it was brainwashing - one only had to know elves like Dobby or Kreacher to understand that - but it was a battle she couldn't win all her own.

Not yet anyway.

And she needed to focus on catching a killer. 

"Thank you." she said, looking back towards Narcissa as she was handed the letters. She filed the letters into her portfolio. "I appreciate you went over the timeline with Investigator Macmillan, but for the sake of completeness, I would like to go over it with you again, if that is alright with you?"

Narcissa stiffened ever so slightly for just a moment, then nodded, slowly. Hermione saw Cassiopeia stiffen a bit as well, perhaps in reaction to her mother's momentary display, but it was impossible to say for sure.

"When was the last time you saw your husband alive?" Hermione asked, pulling out a small resealable pot of ink, silently charming it to float next to her and dipping a quill, setting it to page. 

"Right before he left to head to Horizon Square. He told the elves not to make lunch for him and took the floo to Diagon Alley. So it would have been right before noon, since that's when the elves start preparing lunch most days." Narcissa answered. Hermione wondered what the last thing the older woman had said to her husband was.

"I got the firecall from Investigator Macmillan just before 3:21." Narcissa went on. "I didn't believe him. So I told him to stay there and I checked the Malfoy Tapestry. Then... then the Investigator came through and asked me questions."

Hermione looked at Macmillan's notes. Lucius's body had been found at approximately 2:34 by Ottokar Holzmade. The Westphalian wizard had been there to meet with Lucius regarding investments in real estate in Horizon Square - the two were partnering to corner the market on new construction in the Square and its connecting side streets.

_'Herr Holzmade states that his scheduled meeting with Mr. Malfoy had been at 2:30, but he'd been held up briefly at the International Floo Transfer Platform in Munster.'_ Nearly every wizarding nation had one - occasionally more - international platform for floo travel to and from other nations. Herr Holzmade would have taken the Westphalian Floo Network from his home - presumably - then moved to the international platform to transfer to the British Platform at the Ministry of Magic. Then taken yet another Floo to Diagon Alley. 

"Did you ever meet Herr Ottokar Holzmade?" Hermione asked. "The man who found your husband?"

"Briefly, a few times, when he came to do business with Lucius... about ten years ago," Narcissa answered. "At the time, Lucius was investing in the Graf's potion supply business. I knew Lucius was going back into business with him."

_Graf?_ Hermione frowned internally as she checked her notes. Nowhere in the information Macmillan had given her did it say that Holzmade was a Count. She knew that technically the Malfoys - along with a number of other pureblood families - did have old noble titles that had fallen out of use in Wizarding Britain... so she supposed it made sense purebloods in other nations would too.

_But why would she call him by his title? Unless he actually goes by it, but then why wouldn't Macmillan have noted that?_ It was irrelevant, she knew, but Hermione also knew that little inconsistency would bother her just a tiny bit until she got it resolved.

"Was there anything different about your husband when he left? Did he say if he was planning to meet with anyone else?" Hermione asked, working through the simple questions. Once she'd progressed further in the case, she'd have more specific questions to ask. 

"As I told Investigator Macmillan, no, nothing unusual about him before he left. He said he'd be back by evening, he was going to look at some properties, meet with Graf Holzmade, work out the terms of the initial investments, come back. A fairly typical day for Lucius," Narcissa explained, voice soft, but level.

"And no," she added, shaking her head, "he didn't mention that he planned to meet with anyone else specifically."

Hermione looked at Macmillan's notes. Nothing specifically about Lucius Malfoy planning to look at properties, but that could have been an oversight on Macmillan's part. Which was why she had made sure to ask these questions herself. 

"Do you know which properties he was going to be looking at? Which properties he was interested in?"

"Not the specifics, no. Lucius..." she actually hesitated a moment, taking a breath and pausing mid sentence. "Lucius kept me abreast of what he was doing, but the details of real estate weren't any more interesting to him than my arrangements for the St. Mungo's Charity Ball."

Right. Hermione remembered hearing around the office that Narcissa Malfoy had been selected to chair the committee planning that event this year.

"But he probably had them written down in his study." Narcissa finished. "It's locked to anyone but the head of the family," she explained.

_Which would be Cassiopeia now._

Hermione looked over at her former schoolmate, "May I see the study and take any relevant papers relating to your father's investments? If I can figure out what properties he was interested in, I can hopefully begin to narrow down who would have known where he was going to be, and thus, who killed him," Hermione went on, explaining her interest. She had no doubt she could get a Ministry Order that Cassiopeia couldn't refuse to let her see the study and the information, but she couldn't imagine that would be necessary.

"I can take you there now, if there's nothing else you need my mother for?" Cassiopeia stood quickly, and Hermione wondered just how much of a nerve she'd accidentally exposed in Narcissa, given how eager Cassiopeia was to see Hermione leave her alone. 

"No, nothing for the moment." She stood as well, finishing the tea and setting it down. Wandlessly, she dried the ink on her notes, slipped them into her portfolio and tucked it under her arm.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Malfoy, and once more, my condolences for your loss." She looked over at Cassiopeia, taking the time to get another, real look at her. Now that she knew who Cassiopeia had been, she could pick up a few signs here and there, but in other ways, Cassiopeia was nothing like the person she'd known from Hogwarts - especially in demeanor.

But then, given what had happened since she'd last shared a school with her, that wasn't particularly surprising.

She stood with more... real confidence than she had, rather than false swagger. More... surety in herself. The same self-possession, of course, but even that seemed less... arrogant than before. But she could see traces of it. 

_I suppose the day a Malfoy - any Malfoy - doesn't think that at least a good chunk of the universe revolves around them is the day they marry a muggleborn and become poor._

The slytherin-green blouse she wore was quite fetching on her, and went well with the skirt, which looked just as good on her as the blouse. And without the sneer that she'd grown to expect on the blonde, she looked even better than she had in Hogwarts.   
  


All these thoughts went by quickly, as they did, she nodded towards Cassiopeia, gesturing to the exit of the lounge. "Please, lead the way." The other witch nodded, and Hermione followed her out into the hallway. She looked towards Cassiopeia as they walked and asked a question:

"Given that you were out of the country, I'm going to assume you didn't know anything about what your father was doing?" 

"I knew he was investing in Horizon Square, but only because that was mentioned in the _Prophet_ and the _Diagon Financial Register_ ," Cassiopeia replied, shrugging a bit. Hermione noted the surprisingly bare walls - she'd been at several old pureblood mansions, not even counting 13 Grimmauld Place, in her capacity as an investigator, and in all of them, the walls in the hallways had portraits of the ancestors of the current residents, going back to the earliest members of the family in some cases. 

And if she remembered her last time in Malfoy Manor right, that had been true five years ago here. But not now.

"What about Herr Holzmade?"

"I've never met him," Cassiopeia shrugged again. "But I'm familiar with him, and his family. I'm familiar with almost all of the wealthy pureblood families in Europe. Including the Holzmades," Hermione followed Cassiopeia as she turned down another hallway, this one also bare of family portraits - though at least there were several wizarding portraits here, though depicting scenes of animals or landscapes.

They passed by one of a winter scene, a forest in the middle of a snowstorm that Hermione would have dearly loved to stop and watch as the snow fell on the trees, gathering on the branches. 

"Something you learned as a child?"

"Quite," Cassiopeia confirmed. "You never know when you'll need to call on old favors or alliances from another family, or when you'll need to know the right ways to show proper respect to the traditions of a family to get them to help you. Speaking of," she added as they approached a closed door at the end of the hallway, "you should never call Graf Holzmade 'Herr' to his face."

"Investigator Macmillain's notes didn't make mention of any title," Hermione explained. "I didn't even know he had one until your mother mentioned it."

"Typical of a British wizard, especially a Macmillain," Cassiopeia mused as they reached the door. Curious, Hermione watched the blonde touch her palm to the door and hold it there for a few seconds, before it gently swung open on it's own, revealing an expansive study.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, most of the shelf space taken up with books that looked older than either of them, in most cases, save for the far wall, which had a small fireplace, probably for making private floo calls. Also on the shelves were various small statuettes, sculptures and other small art. On the shelf behind the large black hardwood desk, Hermione spotted a sneak-o-scope, waiting for someone to do something illicit, untrustworthy or deceptive. 

_I wouldn't expect someone like Lucius Malfoy to keep one in his private study._ Hermione tried not to think ill of the dead - even someone like Lucius Malfoy - but she couldn't help wondering if, the few years before the Second Wizarding War and during, the sneak-o-scope had been going off constantly, given all the things he'd been up to, and those staying at his manor had been up to.

"I've not been in here for five years, but anything Father was working on right now would be in one of the desk drawers." Cassiopeia gestured. 

Hermione didn't immediately walk towards the desk, pausing to look at the spines of some of the books, noting titles in German, French, Italian, Russian and even Vietnamese, in one case. Even when the books weren't old, they were obviously rare first editions, well maintained and impeccably presented.

As much setpieces to be seen as to be read, likely. 

"What did you mean by that?" She asked, not looking away from the books, "About Macmillain not noting Holzmade's title."

"The old titles of nobility have fallen out of favor in Wizarding Britain over the last few hundred years. I might be the Lady Malfoy now, but no one is going to be calling me that except in the most formal and antiquated of occasions," Cassiopeia explained. "Likewise with Mr. Parkinson and his rank of Earl, and so on." Hermione heard Cassiopeia walk past her, towards the desk. 

"So it wouldn't even occur to Investigator Macmillain to make a note of Holzmade's title." Hermione surmised, moving to another shelf, looking at the small statuette of Merlin, made of silver, brandishing his wand.

"Indeed." Hermione turned to see Cassiopeia nod as she walked around behind the desk. "And the Macmillains never had a title to begin with, and they tend to disdain most of the old traditions, regardless of what country their from. Which brings us back to the Graf. Some nations in Europe have, like Britain, largely abandoned the titles for legal and social purposes. They don't hold much power legally in Westphalia anymore, but of all the Principalities of the Wizarding Germanies, Westphalia places the highest social importance on titles. Calling Ottokar Holzmade 'Herr' would be a gross insult."

"I appreciate the information. I'll be sure to use his title when I speak to him." Unless she saw value for her investigation in insulting him - sometimes getting the other person's hackles up could make them let slip information they might not otherwise.

That was rarely Hermione's preferred approach, nor one she was as good at as other means of interrogation. 

Not that she liked to interrogate to begin with. She'd found that if you were thorough enough and observant enough, you rarely needed to go that far in the first place.

"Good," Cassiopeia nodded. "The faster you get the Graf to tell you anything he knows that might be useful, the sooner you can find the killer." She sat down in the chair behind the desk. "Father set wards on all the drawers, but they should recognize me... now that ownership of the Manor has passed to me."

Hermione walked over towards the desk, standing behind it as well to watch Cassiopeia open the drawers. It would be bad form to not watch her retrieve any important papers within. The desk surface itself had no loose parchment or papers - several sealed inkwells, a number of quills, some closed books carefully stacked off to one side. 

"How does that work?" Hermione asked, curiously. "If you... if you don't mind me asking? Is there a ceremony or ritual? Or do the wards simply recognize you as the next owner?" 

Cassiopeia opened one drawer, then looked at Hermione, one eyebrow raised, her tone bitter and sardonic. "Always the insatiably curious Granger," she laughed slightly, though without much humor. "Some things really don't change."

"Sorry. Not really the time to ask these sorts of questions," Hermione admitted, chagrined, biting her lip. "Force of habit."

"It's a ceremony. Performed on every Malfoy when they're born. Tunes them to the wards, to the line of succession. When father died, they automatically passed to me," Cassiopeia explained, looking away from Hermione and into the drawer as she pulled out a bundle of papers and photographs. 

Hermione recognized the photograph on top as being of Horizon Square's entrance. "I think that might be it," Hermione reached for the bundle, and Cassiopeia handed to her, their fingers brushing momentarily. She looked at the first paper, under the photo.

The handwriting was elegant, formal and almost spidery. It appeared to be account information... she paged through to the next photo and paper, and it was a picture of a half-completed building, and details on cost estimates, construction schedules...

"Definitely what I'm looking for." Hermione said. She gestured to the desk. "May I?" Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow again, confused rather than sardonic. Hermione spread the papers out on the desk. There were a dozen photographs, apart from the one of the entrance, each of a different property. "Well, these would be the ones he was interested in, then. Is this your father's handwriting?"

"Looks like his," Cassiopeia nodded. 

The notes were quite detailed - not just who owned a given property, but everyone who had owned it, the state of construction, if any... Lucius Malfoy had apparently spared no effort in learning everything he could about the properties he wanted to buy. All of them looked to be profitable, to his eye. 

Mr. Malfoy had been found in the mostly-complete building at 3 Horizon Square, which Lucius had already bought a few days before. According to these notes, he had plans to rent the space out to several shops.

But Number 3 had been the only one that the late Mr. Malfoy had actually bought. And why would he be back at one he'd already paid for if the point was to look at new ones?

She suspected he hadn't _started_ at that property - and had stopped at least a few of the other ones, between leaving Malfoy Manor and his meeting with Graf Holzmade. And those places would be where she would - hopefully - pick up the trail of the killer.

Assuming her attempts to do forensic science with magic didn't turn up anything. 

She was trying to keep her expectations realistic on that front.

"Looks like he wanted to be a landlord," Hermione mused. "Not resale." She gathered the papers back together and looked back at Cassiopeia. "Thank you." She slipped the papers into her portfolio. Mentally, she went over

_Speak to Herr Holzmade, look at Mr. Malfoy's body in storage at the Ministry, then go over all this paperwork this evening and into the night if I need to, and the death threats. Visit Horizon Square tomorrow._

Then hopefully she'd have something more concrete to follow up on.

"When can we my Father's body?" Cassiopeia asked, abruptly as Hermione tucked the portfolio back under her arm. "I wondered why you'd even bothered keeping it at all, until you told us how..." Cassiopeia's breath hitched a moment, and she paused. She took a long, deep breath, then finished, "how he died."

"With any luck, tomorrow." It was rare for a murder victim in the Wizarding World to have their body kept for more than a few hours by investigators. Of course, that was because, short of poisoning, it was usually quite obvious how someone was killed.

_Nearly three quarters of all murders in the last fifty years in Wizarding Britain were the result of Avada Kedavra._ 74.3%,to be exact. It was, after all, the 'Killing Curse'. Why bother using some other method. Murder got you a life sentence in Azkaban already, so why take the risk of your attempt failing?

"I understand the reasoning behind the Ministry's request to keep... to keep the way my father died under wraps." Cassiopeia went on, her tone clipped and formal now. "But I will not be keeping his death itself quiet. People are going to ask where he is... the family has obligations, and they're mine now." She stood. 

Hermione looked at Cassiopeia, wondering. She sounded almost bored. But - though she didn't know Cassiopeia well, especially after five years of her being gone from Britain - she knew the other witch well enough, after six years of school together and a war they both survived, to know that Cassiopeia wasn't that cold. 

Falling back on formalities and duties.

_Though given how much family position and status probably mattered to Lucius Malfoy, that's probably exactly what he'd want his daughter and heir to do._

"His death is no longer a secret that needs to be kept. We'd prefer you don't make any public announcement or hold the funeral for a few more days, even once you get the body, but if you or your mother need to tell anyone... you may."

"Good." Cassiopeia nodded. "Now, if there is nothing else, then I would like you to leave my family and my home for the time being." She gestured for the door, walking around the desk again. "Let me show you to the exit."

"Nothing for now. I may have to come back with more questions, or to look at more of your father's papers, but... for now, I'll leave you both." Hermione nodded, following Cassiopeia back out into the hall.

"Granger," Cassiopeia drew up short in the doorway and turned back to face her, "Find this bastard. Make sure he gets the punishment he's due." lowered her voice just a little, "Don't let him use the same tricks people used to avoid prison after the First Wizarding War."

She stepped aside and let Hermione go first into the hallway, closing the study door behind her.

_Did she just tacitly admit her father probably should have gone to Azkaban after the first war?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, obviously. I like to think I'd have more respect for my fans than JKR has proven herself to have with her various bullshit tweets about canon, 75% of the content on Pottermore and nearly every other public statement she's said about the books. Not to mention the Book That Shall Not Be Named. 
> 
> And of course all the transphobia and generalized ignorance about other cultures and countries. 

Cassiopeia

By Kylia

Chapter 4

**April 25th, 2003**

**Parkinson Estate**

"The Master and the Mistress are not here at the Estate," the house elf that greeted Cassiopeia when she arrived at the front door told her. 

"That's fine. I'm here to see Pansy," Cassiopeia explained cooly. She wondered where Mr. Parkinson and his wife were at this point, but it didn't especially matter. The odds were that if the two of them were here, they'd go back to trying to get a marriage contract for her with Pansy signed.

Their pursuit of that idea had been tossed by the wayside when Pansy came out as sapphic exclusively, though obviously Pansy was still expected to get eventually married to an eligible pureblood - or possibly a suitably wealthy half-blood, given the times - and have children. The only real difference from the standard expectations would be that Pansy and her hypothetical future wife would need appropriate magical assistance for the conception stage of things.

But as soon as they found out that Cassiopeia was now technically eligible for Pansy's affections...

_Yeah, neither of us need that._

It would come sooner or later, but better later rather than sooner. Especially now.

"And is the young Miss expecting you?"

"No, but you can tell her Cassiopeia is here to see her. She'll tell you to let me in," Cassiopeia told the house-elf. The elf nodded and vanished with a quick popping sound, the door closing behind him. Cassiopeia looked around the estate, occupying herself. To her utter lack of surprise, plenty of the flowers Pansy was named for could be seen all over the estate, in a carefully arranged array of colors, both natural and magically created.

Mrs. Parkinson's fondness for the plant was famous across Wizarding England, as was her interest in decorative art through flowers of all sorts. And she seemed to have only gotten more skilled at arranging aesthetically pleasing displays.

As much as she didn't want to, Cassiopeia had to consider the planning for her father's funeral. Asking Mrs. Parkinson to assist her mother with the preparations - especially when it came to anything with flowers - might not be a bad idea.

She filed the thought away for another time, however, as the door opened and the house elf from before was there. 

"Young Miss will see you now," the elf said with a slight bow and Cassiopeia followed him inside. The interior decor was much the same as it had always been, just on this side of tacky and ostentatious - Mr. Parkinson had none of his wife's skill with tasteful decoration, and the entrance hall especially showed his hamfisted touch.

"Where is Pansy?"

"Right here," Cassiopeia looked to the source of the sound, and saw Pansy coming down the stairs into the entrance hall, wearing a black shirt and pants, her hair much shorter than the last time Cassiopeia had seen her. 

She continued down the stairs as she kept talking, "You know, I was at the Ministry briefly earlier and I heard a rumor that a gorgeous blonde - a Malfoy who wasn't Narcissa, even - had been spotted recently, in the Ministry. But I thought, no, because if my best friend Cassiopeia was back in Britain, surely she'd have told me." Despite her 'accusation', she had a smile on her face, which ruined the effect of her 'stern' posture, with her hands on her sides when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Pansy," Cassiopeia smiled softly, letting herself forget - for just a moment - that her father was dead as she approached and embraced one of her oldest friends. She held her tight for a moment. "You changed your hair."

"I felt like a change of style," Pansy said dismissively. "And you didn't answer my question."

"There was a question in there?" Cassiopeia asked, chuckling briefly, raising an eyebrow. "I must have missed it." Then she inhaled, looking down at the ground a moment as reality came rushing back at her.

"I... I wasn't planning on coming back to Britain any time soon," Cassiopeia admitted. She'd been happy in America, all said and done. She'd had friends there - none as close as Pansy, Blaise and Theo, granted - and a fairly active social circle, centering around the shared interest in swordplay, after she'd picked that up.

And of course, while her family name was known, and infamous, it wasn't the same. The Malfoy family had never really shown any interest in anything in the Western Hemisphere, and so had had little involvement there, in any fashion.

Which was why Cassiopeia had gone there in the first place, after narrowly missing Azkaban.

"I only came back now because Father is dead," she finally murmured.

"Cassiopeia-" Pansy embraced her again, holding her tight, and Cassiopeia returned the gesture, arms around Pansy's torso for a long moment before the both pulled back. "I'm sorry - I didn't-" Cassiopeia held up a hand,interrupting Pansy's attempt to apologize for something she couldn't have known.

"He was... killed, yesterday. The Ministry asked Mother to keep it quiet, at least for a short while, as they begin the investigation...." Cassiopeia explained. "I got back to Britain six hours ago - I was only at the Ministry to register my change of name."

"You hadn't taken care of that already?"

"Why bother?" Cassiopeia admitted. "I didn't plan to return to Britain for... years. Probably not until..." she looked away. "Not unless someone died."

Pansy took Cassiopeia's hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry he's dead. And they don't know-"

"No, not yet," Cassiopeia answered. "Though they did put Granger on the case. If anyone can solve Father's murder, I'm sure the infamous know it all swot can," especially given the role a muggle weapon had played.

"Come on," she tugged on Cassiopeia's hand, pulling her up the stairs. "I'm getting Blaise and Theo here. I'm not going to make you go through the whole explanation three times," 

Cassiopeia inhaled and followed Pansy into the upper lounge, a more private and discrete sort of room than the main one on the lower floor. Pansy lit a fire with a casual wave of her wand and tossed floo powder into it.

"Nott Manor," she called out as the flames turned green, and then she stuck her head in. "Theo! Get over here, now. And drag Blaise out of whichever guest room he's sleeping it off in while you're at it and bring him too." 

Cassiopeia didn't hear what Theo said, but Pansy added, before pulling out of the fireplace, "yes, it's about Cassiopeia. She's back, she's here, and she needs to talk to you and Blaise." Pansy brushed a stray bit of ash out of her hair as she pulled back, putting out the fire - there was no need to turn the lounge into a sauna.

"Blaise is staying at Theo's?" Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow.

"He got into a fight with his mother last week and refuses to go back home on principle." Pansy explained. "And he doesn't want to leave Britain." 

"Not even to go live in one of the houses he actually owns in his own right? Not like he couldn't just floo or apparate back and forth." Well, apparating would depend on which of the properties he was living in. Blaise was unusual among British Purebloods in having an extensive portfolio of properties in Europe, thanks to his father's family. He had a chateau and vineyard in France, a villa in Tuscany and extensive properties in and around Tunis. Not to mention smaller homes on Antwerp, Madrid, Barcelona, Rotterdam and Oslo.

The Malfoy Family had properties on the continent as well - not to mention the home Cassiopeia had been living at in America, which she hadn't sold and had no plans to. But nothing quite as wide-ranging or extensive as Blaise's.

Cassiopeia was happy to focus on something much smaller than her own problems right now.

"I guess not." Pansy shrugged. "He won't tell Theo or me, but I think he's seeing someone and doesn't want to tell us," Pansy explained, clearly picking up on Cassiopeia's intentions by her question.

"He denies it, but he's doing _something_ other than just partying when he goes out, and has for like... a month now. At least." Pansy went on. She stepped away from the fireplace and to the door. "Edelweiss!" she called out, and a house elf - not the one that had greeted Cassiopeia at the door - popped into view, wearing what might have once been part of a quilt, judging from the arrangement of the colors. 

"Yes, young miss?"

"Bring up four glasses, and a bottle of the MacDerrin Blend. One of the twelve year ones." Pansy told the elf, and with a bow, the elf vanished.

"Pansy, you-"

"Cass, half the reason we have any MacDerrin in the Estate is because it's your favorite scotch. I knew you were going to come visit eventually, so I bought up a dozen bottles a few years ago."

"Yes, but you _hate_ Scotch." Cassiopeia pointed out. 

"Not enough to not drink someone when the bottle's already opened and I'm pouring some for you, Theo and Blaise. I'm sure Blaise will bitch about it not being grappa or Guinness, but he'll drink just the same. Theo likes Scotch as much as you do."

Well, that was true, though Theo's preferred single malt was from a distillery near Edinburgh. Blaise would drink just about any alcoholic beverage offered, though he did prefer grappa in general, or if that wasn't available in any variety, Guiness in particular.

"Okay," Cassiopeia conceded, holding her hands up briefly in surrender, and then dropped into one of the chairs, leaning back a bit. "We were talking about Blaise being unusually secretive about seeing someone?"

"We were," Pansy agreed, sitting down in another one, crossing one leg over the other. "I told him I didn't see why he was keeping it quiet from us - did he actually think anyone was going to judge him?" Pansy laughed, "I dated Hermione. I think, short of jumping into bed with Potter or Weasley, there's nothing he could do that would shock us,"

"Potter's engaged, isn't he?" Cassiopeia pointed out. "And the idea of Wesley having sex at all is just..." Cassiopeia shuddered. "The freckles could very well be... _everywhere_." 

"Yeah, he proposed to his precious Ginny a few months ago, the Prophet is still following the wedding preparations with breathless anticipation. The rumors are they both want a small, quiet ceremony, which also has all the press vultures pulling their hair out," Pansy grinned. 

"They're going to try to eat you alive, you know, once they find out you're back, _and_ your father's dead." Pansy cautioned. 

"They'll find I'm a lot harder to digest than I was five years ago," Cassiopeia countered. "And this time, I'll have every right to sic the lawyers on them if they decide to close in too much."

"The day lawyers stop someone like Skeeter is the day I drink veritaserum and sing a heartfelt love song to Slughorn," Pansy countered. She sighed. "You said Granger got assigned the case?"

"She did," Cassiopeia nodded. "She's still the same sort of person, at the end of the day." 

"On the surface, maybe," Pansy's smile turned into a smirk, and she leaned in a bit conspiratorially. "But get her alone and bothered... she's nothing like the girl we knew at Hogwarts."

"Pansy!" Cassiopeia half-scolded, half-tried to suppress a smile at her friend's antics. "I keep telling you I don't need to know the details of your sex life, whoever you were with at the time."

Pansy raised an eyebrow and her hair behind her a bit. " _Even_ when it comes to Granger? Are you sure you didn't fancy her while you were picking on her? You singled her out pretty well, even given that she was Muggleborn."

Cassiopeia rolled her eyes at the retread argument - Pansy hadn't conceded it when she'd first brought it up two years ago, so much as just ended the discussion, but apparently she was still convinced she was right.

"I picked on her because I was a little biggoted shite who was jealous she had better marks than me in just about every class." Cassiopeia replied, shaking her head. 

The fireplace it again on it's own, with green fire, and out stepped Theo and Blaise, even as Cassiopeia finished:

"I didn't secretly fancy Granger, I promise." 

Blaise blinked, pulling a hand down his face, still blinking tiredly. "You woke me up to talk about Granger?" Cassiopeia looked at her friends - like Pansy, she hadn't seen either one in months. Blaise looked more or less like he always did, though with a rumpled, just-woke-up look expression, his outfit, suited for going out to enjoy a night on the town, quite obviously slept in.

"No, were just killing time until you got here." Pansy said. "Have a seat. I've got Edelweiss bringing drinks." 

Cassiopeia looked to Theo, who had arrived after Blaise. Theo also looked much like he always did, though his hair was slightly longer than usual. He was wearing his standard severe and nearly formal outfit, as if he'd been working at a high-level ministry office.

"Cassiopeia," Theo nodded and sat down. Blaise sort of just dropped down into another chair and gestured loosely in acknowledgement of her.

"Theo, Blaise," Cassiopeia nodded, smiling softly for a moment, then taking a breath.

"You must have just gotten back?" Blaise asked after a moment.

"Just about. I arrived six hours ago." Cassiopeia nodded.

"I thought you weren't planning to come back any time... ever?" Blaise asked. "What changed?"

"Father was killed." Cassiopeia said softly, though loud enough to be heard. "He died yesterday, and I came back as soon as I could." She looked at the floor, running one hand along the side of the chair arm idly. She was unable to say more before Edelweiss returned, popping into the room with four glasses and a bottle of MacDerrin Blend Scotch. 

"Dismissed," Pansy nodded to Edelweiss, and the elf vanished with another pop. Pansy quickly poured four drinks with some quick gestures of her wand. She floated one over to Cassiopeia, who accepted it and took a small sip, the rich,smokey flavors washing over her tongue. 

She took another breath. 

"Was killed?" Theo lit onto that phrase, and Cassiopeia nodded.

"Murder," she confirmed, trying to prevent any of the seething rage she had at the idea of someone daring to kill her father - daring to _murder_ a Malfoy - left her with. That sort of indignant reaction was nearly natural to her blood, and a small part of her wished she could do the investigation herself, deliver justice herself... drive the Malfoy Sword into the bastard's stomach, let the murderer linger long before dying.

"I'm sorry," Theo said quietly, and he quickly stood up, walking the distance between them to hug Cassiopeia for a quick moment. Cassiopeia returned the gesture, and Theo went back to his seat, grabbing his drink and downing the glass's contents quickly. "I didn't even hear a whisper... the Ministry's keeping it under wraps?"

"Very close to the chest." Cassiopeia admitted. She met Blaise's eye and he nodded once, not being particularly prone to hugs, even quick ones. She sipped at her scotch again. "The investigator - Granger, which is why Pansy decided to bring out her absurd theory again - said that we were allowed to start telling some people, but they did want this kept quiet, for a little while longer."

"So they don't know who killed him?"

"Not a clue," Cassiopeia admitted. "Or if they do, they aren't sharing that." The list of muggleborns, halfbloods and even purebloods from the other side that would have liked to see her father dead was quite long. The list that would have actually done it - and with a muggle weapon no less - was likely shorter.

"He was out in Horizon... looking at more properties..." Cassiopeia's voice broke a little, and she stopped, taking another sip. "Mother didn't know anything until an investigator came to tell her. She sent a message to me and as soon as I received it, I made all preparations to come back, as quickly as possible."

She hadn't been at her home in America when the message arrived, and had only gotten it before it was too late to take the international floo back to Britain, requiring her to spend a night of fitful sleep after reading the letter before arriving back.

Cassiopeia sipped at her scotch, then downed the rest of the glass, leaning toward to take the bottle and pour herself some more. She stopped on finger of scotch, putting the bottle back.

"He's dead. And I can't - Merlin knows I had - I _hated_ him so much, during the war. For dragging the family into the arms of that madman, for getting in so deep..." Not that Pansy and Theo didn't have their own hatreds for their parents over that. But Theo's hate hadn't been mitigated by his father actually being a good father, and the Parkinsons had managed avoid getting in quite as deep into the heart of the Death Eaters the second time around, nor drawn as much of their ire as her family had after Lucius Malfo's failure at the Department of Ministry's.

Theo had all but celebrated when his bastard of a father was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. Pansy's father had served a year in a cell at the Ministry and then been under another year of house arrest. 

It was different - not better,not worse, but different, their epxeriences with their Death Eater fathers.

Blaise, of course, had lost his father years before the War even started. 

"I know things weren't always - still aren't - great with your father, Pans, but at least you got to sit and talk to him." Cassiopeia murmured. "Even if you have to keep living with him..." She laughed humorlessly. "Maybe you have it worse."

"No...no, I don't." Pansy disagreed. "Dad's an arsehole sometimes, a lot, but... I'd rather have him alive."

"I never asked - did you forgive him?" Cassiopeia asked now, voice quiet. She swallowed, trying to prevent any tears forming in her eyes. 

"I... we sort of skipped that part, a little," Pansy admitted. "I... I have forgiven him, mostly. What I haven't forgiven him for is raising me the way he did. I still can't get past thinking the word 'mudblood' sometimes, even when I don't want to. Part of me still looks down on anyone who isn't Sacred Twenty Eight, or similar pedigree."

Theo drank wordlessly at that, the expression on his face probably mirroring the one on Cassiopeia's face. It wasn't as if Cassiopeia didn't occasionally have the same problem, in the privacy of her own mind. Living under the constant threat of the Dark Lord in your own house might have accelerated the process for her - hoping Potter and Granger and even Weasely found a way to save the day every free second you had would do that - a lifetime of being a bigoted shite was hard to lose, even with five years to work at it.

Though she was better than five years ago, or seven years ago, even.

"But I was able to sit down and talk to him..." Pansy laughed darkly, then corrected herself: "Well, more like sit him down and yell at him." 

"I probably wouldn't have yelled at Father... but there was a lot I planned on saying to him, since he was finally out." Casiopeia admitted. She tried to imagine herself yelling at her father, and she just... the image died in her mind. She'd yelled before, but that was rarely out of true anger.

No... just like her father and mother, when Cassiopeia got angry - she bottled it up and let it out in small, ice-cold portions, with biting words and sideways comets. With the cold shoulder, and terse, overly polite behavior, with veiled insults and quiet sneers.

She'd long dreaded finally having it out with her father. Their few face to face visits, when he'd been at Azkaban, had had her father be... surprisingly humbled, by everything, but Cassiopeia had refrained from really having it out with him. Their visits had been watched, like everything in the prison, now that Dementors weren't there to provide security. 

Neither of them had wanted to have so personal a conversation with other ears.

Same with their letters - they'd begun to... at least slowly build a path to truly patching things up, but the most important things hadn't been said yet. The things Cassiopeia had wanted to say most of all, the questions, the...

 _Why, Father? Why was it so important that we had to hate muggleborns so much?_ The Malfoy family was wealthy, powerful, influential, with a long history of success and excellence in Britain, ever since they'd first come to the island. There was plenty to be proud of, to assure them of their elite status, 

So many things in her life had been closed off right from the start, because of the attitudes her father gave her, and attitudes she'd gleefully embraced for many years.

"I..." she licked her lips and started again. "I don't know if I could have forgiven him for everything, or even anything. But... it would have been nice to have that chance. Closure." She played her free hand across her lap, balling around a bit of her skirt. "And everything else aside..." She trailed off, closing her eyes a moment and inhaling, feeling tears starting to well up. She set her glass down on the arm of the chair, balancing it, and brought the hand to her face, pressing at her temples, covering her eyes and trying to wipe away any even slight hint of dampness.

"He was actually a father who loved you and cared about you and you loved and cared about him?" Theo offered. 

"Yeah," Cassiopeia said, after a long moment, taking her hand down, pretending there weren't small damp spots on her palm and fingers. "It would be simpler if I didn't. But I still know him as the one who first taught me how to fly a broom. Who taught me what it meant to be a Malfoy - the good and the bad. Who was always there to listen, when I was growing up." She barked a hollow laugh.

"Merlin, he was the one who first taught you how to fly too," she nodded to Theo. "He was more than just the man everyone the rest of the Wizarding World remembers him as. When the press descends on me... I'm sure somewill be wanting to hear me say 'good riddance'." 

She shook her head.

"I can't. Merlin help me, for everything I hate him for, for everything he did wrong... I can't be glad my father's dead. Not now, not ever."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine.
> 
> I appreciate the story is moving at a fairly slow pace, there's not much I can do about that, given the nature of it, but I hope each chapter is good enough to keep you interested, regardless.
> 
> Population estimates for Wizarding Britain are hard to determine because Rowling is incredibly inconsistent, as is trying to figure out the class size at Hogwarts, especially since again, Rowling is inconsistent. I've decided to go with the estimates that see the population of Wizarding Britain to be about 10-15 thousand, as that seems reasonable given the stuff we see in the books. Still too large in some ways, of course, but I also think it's likely given the two recent wars, the Wizarding population would have dropped quite a bit and would skew older, with many young adults having died in the conflicts created by Voldemort.

Cassiopeia

By Kylia

Chapter 5

**April 25th, 2003**

**Halidixian Hotel, London**

The Halidixian Hotel was the premier hotel for visiting wizards and witches, here in Britain for reasons of business or pleasure. It was also expensive, but a man of Graf Ottokar's means would have no difficulties paying for the time he was staying here. Though he had come to meet with Lucius Malfoy, he was still intending to make the investments he had planned and expected to be in Britain for at least a week in total, so that left Hermione time to come back for followup if need be.

She almost always needed follow up questions, of course.

You never knew what questions to _ask_ when you started an investigation, beyond the basics. You needed a chance to put all the clues together and see the holes in people's stories, the avenues for inquiry, the weak spots you could press to make people talk when they didn't want to.

Hostile interrogation was an effective tool for some of her fellows - and Harry and Ron used it to great effect as aurors - but Hermione found it was far more efficient to simply know enough that the other person folded under the weight of it. Thinking you knew enough to make it irrelevant if they talked.

All of this assumed the person was not forthcoming at first - but even if they were, things might come up that would lead to follow up questions, subsequent inquiries.

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace in the small, intimate main lobby and approached the wizard sitting behind the desk. He was reading the _Prophet_ , the front page about the recent scandal surrounding the coach for the Wimbledon Wasps betting against his own team and ensuring their defeat. It was, unfortunately, a far too common topic of conversation at the office among her co-workers.

Hermione cleared her throat, catching the man's attention as he lowered the prophet. He went from bored and exasperated with the interruption to much more respectful when Hermione showed the badge marking her as being from the DMLE.

"Investigator Granger. I'd like to speak with one of your guests. Ottokar Holzmade?" Hermione explained calmly. "I have a few questions for him, about an ongoing investigation." The clerk's eyes widened for a moment, on recognizing her and her name, but only a moment - while she was still famous as a 'war heroine', it was much more muted these days, five years on.

_Thank Merlin._

The clerk cleared his throat, "Our guests pay a premium for their privacy, Investigator," he said, words sounding like the canned response they were.

"I know he's here because he told the last Investigator who spoke to him yesterday that he was staying here," Hermione explained. "He's a witness, and I have a few follow up questions. Please, feel free to check with him before telling me what room number he's in."

The clerk nodded, "Very well." He reached into a drawer in his desk, and after searching for a moment, pulled out a piece of parchment. This piece would be linked to another piece in Holzmade's room by a Protean Charm, and was the way that guests and the front desk could communicate as needed.

_An Investigator Granger from the DMLE would like to ask you questions._ Hermione read the upside down, neat and cramped script fairly easily as the clerk's quill passed across the page. _She says it's in regards to -_

Before the clerk can finish writing, more words, in much more spindly script, _Send her up._

The clerk pulled his quill away from the paper and set it in the inkwell. "Room 307," He tells her. 

"Thank you," She nods and heads for the stairs, climbing up to the third floor and entering into the hallway. A quick check sees her heading left, and then she's in front of room 307.

Hermione knocks, "Graf Holzmade?" She asked, then knocked a second time. "It's Investigator Granger."

"Yes, yes, come in," a thickly accented, but comprehensible voice said from the other side of the door, and Hermione heard the sound of the lock turning. Opening the door, Hermione stepped inside.

Holzmade was a short, squat man, with a balding head and a short, well trimmed brown beard starting to go grey. His robes were draped over the back of a chair, leaving him in formal, well made and probably custom tailored formal garb, the shirt with a high collar.

"I assume you're here to speak with me about Lucius?" Holzmade asked. Hermione nodded. "Terrible business... Lucius was a fine businessman, his... political faults aside." Holzmade said the latter bit after a brief inhaling of breath. 

_Political faults?_ Hermione supposed that was the polite way to put it. Certainly more polite than saying he was a racist and power-hungry man who aligned himself to an even more racist, even more power hungry monster and then had to pay the consequences when his master died.

"Regardless, please, please, sit," he gestured to another chair in the front room of the suite. Hermione had been to the Halidixian to interview witnesses or even detain suspects enough times to know the layout of the suites: a front room then a bathroom and the far end of the bathroom was the bedroom. Hermione sat down and took out parchment, inkwell and quill, charming the inkwell to float next to her again. 

"Investigator Granger... you wouldn't be Hermione Granger, would you?" Holzmade asked, sitting down on one of the other chairs. 

_I don't think there are any other witches with that last name in Britain,_ Hermione mused, but it wasn't as if Holzmade was necessarily going to know that. She nodded.

"Yes, I am Hermione Granger. I've been assigned the late Lord Malfoy's case." If Holzmade expected to be called a Graf, he probably would like to see Malfoy's title respected. 

Holzmade nodded, "Terrible business," he repeated. "I... I can only hope his wife and son are doing... well, as well as can be expected, given this. Narcissa was always a charming woman, and while I never met young Draco-"

"Cassiopeia," Hermione corrected, before she could stop herself. It wasn't as if Holzmade was actually deliberately getting it wrong - he wouldn't have known - but still.

Holzmade raised an eyebrow, "Cybelean?" Hermione nodded, and Holzmade nodded in turn, accepting the correction. "I never did meet young Cassiopeia but... well, having the wealth and title and position of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy descend on someone so young, especially like this..." He shook his head. "As I said, I can only hope she's handling this as well as could be expected." He cleared his throat.

  
"So. Investigator Granger." He nodded, then, he leaned forward, speaking a bit quieter. "I know - I know this isn't exactly the most..." he hesitated, searching for the right word, then, "opportune time to ask such questions, but before you leave, after you're done with your questions, might I trouble you for your autograph?"

Hermione blinked, staring at him, not sure what to make of that. She occasionally got requests for her autograph, but since she'd done her best to make as little of her fame as possible - at least in terms of pursuing celebrity - such requests were uncommon these days. And she'd never had a foreign witch or wizard ask. Nor an elderly pureblood of wealth and status like Holzmade.

Holzmade chuckled, ruefully, speaking his hands a little in an apologetic gesture. "I only ask because - well, my," He paused, drumming the fingers of one hand against his other wrist for a moment. "I can't - the word - my Schwiegertochter?" Holzmade looked at her for assistance.

"I'm afraid my German is limited to a few phrases," Hermione admitted. She was fluent in French and Spanish, and passable in Italian - she'd been studying up on that language in her limited free time - but as she'd said, she knew very little German. Mostly enough to say she didn't speak the language and to ask if someone spoke English, Spanish or French. 

They were useful phrases to know for just about any language, to Hermione's mind.

"Wife of your son?" Holzmade elaborated.

"Daughter in law?" Hermione offered, and Holzmade snapped his fingers, nodding.

"Yes, my daughter in law. Annika. She is a muggleborn, and a great admirer of yours." Hermione did have some 'fans', but she hadn't realized she had any overseas. But it made some sense that a muggleborn might find something about her life story of interest, even in another country. 

The thought had never really occurred to her before now though.

She was also a little surprised that a pureblood with a title - and thus, from a fairly old pureblood family - was apparently so accepting of his son marrying a muggleborn. Even with the war over, you weren't likely to see a pureblood family of status, like the Zabinis or the Fawleys be accepting of such a 'dilution' of the bloodlines, even if they were unlikely to say it openly.

When she'd dated Pansy, though they'd never discussed marriage - their relationship having not been serious enough for it to come up - Hermione had had only a very polite acceptance from Pansy's parents, the few times they interacted. 

_I need to do more research on the politics of blood status in other nations._ She knew very little about it, beyond the Durmstrang Institute's unwillingness to accept anyone that wasn't a pureblood, and other factoids of that sort.

"If Annika were to find out that I had the opportunity to ask for your autograph and I didn't take it..." Holzmade laughed slightly, then looked away, perhaps embarrassed, given the circumstances. "Well, she wouldn't be very happy with me, and then my son would be unhappy with me, and so, I asked."

Hermione nodded, understanding the reason he asked, then. "As you said, not exactly an opportune time, but before I leave, yes, I can provide an autograph," Hermione assured him. "Now, Graf, I understand you did business with Lucius Malfoy once before, about ten years ago, regarding investments in your potion's supply business. Is that correct?" Holzmade nodded. "And is that the only time - other than what led to your discovery of Lord Malfoy's body - you did business?"

"The only time we did business directly," Holzmade nodded. "We would meet from time to time, on the continent, discuss financial matters, until the situation in Britain grew unpleasant, and Lucius stopped leaving Britain." He blinked, "I- I have to ask - why are you asking me about-"

"I'm trying to construct a clear timeline of Lord Malfoy's movements, and his plans with regards to the real estate purchases." Hermione explained. "While the investigation is at its early stages, I suspect that whoever killed him knew he was going to be where he was, and I'd like to develop a clear idea of who might have known what he was doing. With neither his wife nor his daughter having much specific information on Lucius Malfoy's plans, I was hoping you might be able to help me fill in some blanks."

"Ah, I see. My apologies for the question." Holzmade gestured for her to go on, and Hermione did so.

"As I understand it, you two wanted to corner the market on new construction in Horizon Square? Is that correct?"

"Yes. It's not common that a whole new area gets opened up for construction in the Wizarding World these days, and that's a significant opportunity for anyone who can get in, as the muggles say, 'on the ground floor'." Holzmade explained, once more surprising Hermione. 

"Were you planning to partner with anyone else, or was it going to be just the two of you?" Hermione asked. 

"We hadn't discussed adding anyone else, though we might have had to, depending on how things went. When word reached Westphalia about the opening of Horizon Square, I started making inquiries, and that's how I found out about Lucius's plans." Holzmade explained. "As I'm sure you know better than I, the Malfoy fortunes are somewhat... diminished, as of late." 

Hermione nodded. While still incredibly wealthy, the Malfoy's finances had taken a hit from the fallout of the war, the fines and costs levied on them by the ministry, the numerous and sizeable donations Narcissa Malfoy had made to help rehabilitate the family name, and of course the simple fact of Lucius Malfoy being in prison for several years. It had sent the gossip mill at the Ministry into titters about a year and a half ago when the _Diagon Financial Register_ had listed the Malfoys as the third wealthiest family in Wizarding Britain - losing the top spot they'd had for 103 years - to the Greengrass and Nott families respectively. It wasn't by much, but Hermione was sure that had smarted for Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, when I heard that Lucius was planning not just to invest, but to corner the market, I offered to partner with him, since we'd worked well before. I wasn't the only one from outside Britain to be looking at the opportunity this posed, so I wanted every advantage I could get," Holzmade explained.

"But I would assume you didn't advertise the properties you were interested in?" Hermione asked, to clarify, and Holzmade nodded, looking a little aghast at the suggestion. "What stage of the planning were you in?"

"Lucius and I discussed the properties we were interested in via owl, but yesterday was meant to be when we finalized our plans on what to start with." Holzmade answered. "He'd arranged with all the proper people for us to take a look at the lots, the construction, the completed buildings, and so forth that we were interested in." He moved his left hand in a small circular gesture as he said 'and so forth'. 

"Which properties?" Hermione asked, lighting on the first immediately useful piece of information. Anyone that Malfoy had spoken to would have known enough about his plans to know roughly where he was going to be.

Hermione doubted that the killer had simply been carrying around the gun all the time and then shot Lucius Malfoy on chancing upon him.

"Offhand... Number 5 Horizon Square, Number 12..." Holzmade stroked his chin. "It will be easier if I just find the list," He said, though Hermione wrote down those two addresses. Holzmade stood up and went over to the desk, tapping one of the drawers with his wand and pulling out a number of pieces of parchment, sorting through them, murmuring under his breath.

"No... not that one... wait, what is that doing there?...no - no... it was in here- ah yes, here," Holzmade took one of the pieces and handed her a letter, written in German, from 'Lord Malfoy' - well, Freiherr Malfoy, to 'Graf Holzmade', but the list of nearly two dozen properties was written in English, at least. Hermione grabbed another piece of parchment from her portfolio, laid it atop the letter and tapped them both with her wand, the spell copying the letter's contents onto the previously blank page. 

"Thank you," Hermione handed the letter back to Holzmade. "I notice 3 Horizon Square - the location you were due to meet at, and the place you found his body - isn't on this list? Was that because Lord Malfoy had already purchased it?"

"Yes," Holzmade confirmed, sitting back down in the chair opposite her. "It was the first building to be completed, and Lucius was unwilling to let it be snapped up before we could come to an arrangement, so he bought it himself." Holzmade gave a small laugh. "Very unlike him, but I suppose it's not surprising he might be a bit more willing to make a financial gamble, given things. I was... I admit I wasn't happy about it, and I was nearly ready to end our arrangement before it began," He shrugged. "Lucius convinced me otherwise, but since he already owned Number 3, it made a good place to meet."

_So they were due to meet at 2:30, Malfoy leaves the manor at noon - would he have been looking at the properties himself, first?_ Given that acting on his own had nearly risked his business partnership, would the late Mr. Malfoy have done that?

_Perhaps, if he thought he could get away with it, and had some reason to._ She had to admit, she had no idea how Mr. Malfoy thought, really, just guesses based on she knew of him and what he did. 

"Which brings us to the last thing I wanted to speak with you about: I have the statement you gave Investigator Macmillan, but I would like to go through it all again with you, if you're willing."

"Of course, anything to help," Holzmade nodded. 

"So you were due to arrive at 2:30, but the International Floo Transfer Platform in Munster held you up?" Hermione looked at Macmillan's notes, "A potions' spill?"

"Indeed. Some potions someone was importing in bulk," Holzmade waved a hand dismissively, "I don't know who or what, but the courier's extension charm on his bag failed unexpectedly and the bag burst, vials breaking and potion spilling everywhere. I'd only just reached the platform, but it took a few minutes for the Chancellory's people to have it all cleaned up." Holzmade explained. "Then I took the Floo to the Ministry here in London, and apparated to Diagon Alley and walked the rest of the way."

"You reached the entrance of the Square, and walked to Number 3. And you expected to meet Lord Malfoy out front?" Holzmade nodded. "Did you worry when you didn't see him there?"

"Not particularly. I assumed he'd gone inside to wait when I didn't show up on time." He smiled softly, "Lucius is quite the stickler for punctuality. Was." He corrected, eyes looking down to the ground for a moment. "I walked to the door, knocked and the door swung inward." He let out a breath.

"And that's when I saw him." He started to go a little pale. "I - I mean, I've seen dead people before, I've even seen the body of someone murdered before but..." Holzmade muttered something in German and took a deep breath. "I've never seen...quite that much blood before," he said, swallowing, voice shaking just a touch. 

Hermione wasn't surprised. The Killing curse - the most conventional way to kill someone in the wizarding world - left no mark, and most other spells that could kill someone, even inadvertently, or when applied too much, didn't tend to cause one to bleed either.

_Sectumsempra notwithstanding._

Hermione nearly did a double take at remembering that incident from 6th year, wondering why it was suddenly coming to mind - not that she'd seen Harry cast it, but she'd heard all about it - but then, considering that it had been cast on Cassiopeia Malfoy - even if she hadn't been Cassiopeia then - and she had all the Malfoys on he remind at the moment, it made sense.

"I... I just stood there for a minute," Holzmade admitted, going on after getting himself under control, though he was still a touch pale. "I sort of... stumbled out the door and shouted that there'd been a murder. Several times... a few people heard me and were coming over towards Number 3, and I asked one of them to send a patronus to the Ministry - I didn't know anyone in the DMLE to send a patronus to and... a few minutes later, I think, Investigator Macmillan apparated in." Holzmade concluded. 

Hermione looked down at Holzmade's notes. Julius Flint had been the one to send the patronus, apparently, one of the people overseeing construction at Number 4 Horizon Square, which was due to be a block of flats. Even with magic, building a building took time and skill, even if it was a different sort than required for muggle construction. Less people too, in total.

"Was there anything you noticed about the body, or the exterior of the building?" Hermione asked. "Even the smallest detail could help." It had been difficult to pin down when Lucius had died - the blood wasn't dry yet when the body was found, so less than an hour, give or take. But anything more than that? Impossible to say.

Macmillan hadn't known what a gun was, likely, when first collecting witness statements, so he'd not asked as much. His notes didn't mention him asking about unusual sounds - a few people had mentioned the sound of apparition, which could mean something.

Hermione had never seen a gun fired herself in person, but she had heard the sound of gunfire on the television or on the radio - she listened to the BBC's News Hour most nights at 9 in the evening, to keep abreast of what was going on in the muggle world, even if she didn't live in it, and she had a television she watched films on. And of course, she'd watched some television growing up, when at home, though less than many of her peers.

The loud crack of apparition sounded a great deal like a car backfiring, and guns could sound the same, some anyway, from what little Hermione had heard and knew. Certainly to many wizards, who in most cases would have never heard the sound before in their lives, it would easy to mix the sound of a gunshot in the distance or even nearby with the crack of someone apparating in or away.

"Any unusual sounds, or anything?" Hermione pressed. "I appreciate Macmillan asked yesterday, but... on a second look, has anything come to mind?"

Holzmade furrowed his brow and considered her question. "Well... as I said, I knocked and the door swung open."

"The door was already open." Hermione followed along with what he was saying. "You didn't touch the doorknob?"

"No. I was confused for a moment, by that, but then..." he trailed off. "Well, I was distracted by the body. The blood." Holzmade confirmed.

The door was already opened, but then closed enough to seem completely closed from outside - pulled nearly into the frame but not quite, likely. Had that been deliberate, or simply someone sloppy in how they'd closed the door? It didn't tell her much at the moment, but every little bit of information added to the complete picture.

"Anything else?" Hermione asked one last time.

Holzmade bowed his head a little, putting a hand on the back of his head and scratching for a moment, then straightened back up and dropped his hand into his lap, "I don't... nothing else comes to mind... I..." he trailed off. "As I told Macmillan... I didn't see anyone by the building or... hear anything unusual." He shrugged.

"My apologies, but... no, nothing." Holzmade admitted. "I can't think of anything."

Everything Holzmade said lined up with what he'd told Macmillan, except for the additional comment about the door already being open - he had said he'd knocked and the door opened, but Macmillan hadn't made the connection there. Nor would she necessarily have without Holzmade clarifying it was unusual. 

If it was of note anyway.

"Well, I appreciate your time, and that list of properties will hopefully be helpful as well, Graf Holzmade," Hermione nodded, standing up. She held out her hand, and Holzmade accepted it, and they shook briefly before she pulled her hand back. Remembering her promise, Hermione withdrew another blank sheet of parchment and dipped her quill again, quickly signing her name across the sheet, handing it to Holzmade. 

"For your daughter in law." Hermione handed it to Holzmade. 

"Thank you," Holzmade accepted the signed paper, setting it on his desk. "Annika will appreciate it. And if there's anything else I can do to assist you in the case, please, let me know."

"I will." Hermione nodded. "And if you think of anything, send a message to the Investigation Office at the DMLE, and it will get to my desk." Holzmade assured her that she would, and Hermione left the room with a final farewell, heading back down the stairs to the Fireplace to Floo back to the Ministry. She would take a look at Mr. Malfoy's body, and then she'd look into these properties, get all the names of all the people who might have known Lucius Malfoy wanted to look at them, and compare them with the death threats, people with grievances against any Malfoy...

Well... Hermione suspected she'd be working late tonight. The latter list would be fairly long, and to address the former she'd have to go down to look at property records, find building contracts, identify personnel working at various locations...

According to the last census, there were just under 11,000 wizards and witches in areas under the jurisdiction of the Ministry. And while only a relatively small number of people would be on her potential list of people with the _knowledge_ of Mr.Malfoy's schedule, that could total up to a hundred or more. The list of people with a reason to want to hurt or kill him... well, depending on how far one stretched it, that list could climb into the thousands.

_A late night in the office indeed._ Not for the first time since she'd started working at the Ministry, Hermione dearly wished the Wizarding World had developed the innovation of sending for takeaway for dinner.

But since they hadn't, and since she was working late, Hermione would have to figure out what she would eat for dinner, and where to get it. Something quick and easy so she could return to work.

_Well, if you had nothing but open and shut cases, Hermione, you'd have been bored out of your mind within a month of becoming an Investigator._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not an entitled multimillionaire who is constitutionally incapable of admitting I've ever made a mistake, so... yeah. I don't own Harry Potter. This is written entirely not for profit for the purposes of fun and spite.
> 
> As should always be clear, but I'll note it again - the opinions of characters in the story have no direct connection inherent in terms of my opinions - I don't always think the same way as the characters do. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, sometimes it's complicated.

Cassiopeia

By Kylia

Chapter 6

**April 25th, 2003**

**Parkinson Estate**

Cassiopeia was silent for a moment, everyone else was as well, and then she sipped down the rest of her drink. She debated pouring herself more, then decided against it. 

Alcohol didn't make pain go away.

"Enough about... that," Cassiopeia said after a long moment. "It's been a few months since you've visited, and there's only so much that goes into a letter. So fill me in on what's going on here. The stuff that doesn't make it into papers." She smirked, looking at Blaise, raising an eyebrow.

"And you're singling me out... why?" Blaise asked, quickly pouring more scotch into his glass. 

"Cassiopeia is as curious as the rest of us why you're in a tiff with your mother." Theo pointed out. "Merlin knows I've been burning to pester you about it. Because I can't imagine what it is. You don't exactly _do_ much with your time," he added. "I've got the family business to manage, but you - all you do is lounge around, spend money and go to clubs, muggle and magic."

Cassiopeia blinked, "You go to muggle clubs, Blaise?" She chuckled, trying to imagine her friend in and amongst muggles. The Zabinis were never quite as prejudiced as many other families in Britain, but it wasn't like he had any experience with them. "How did I never hear about this before?"

"It's a new thing," Blaise admitted. "The music's better, and more variety. And the booze -" Blaise laughed. "Muggles take mixed drinks to a whole new level. Tastier, and better at getting you drunk quick, if that's what you want."

Pansy laughed, "That sounds worth looking into. I hear... stories about muggle clubs," she added, smirking suggestively. "How true are they?"

"They don't actually have orgies right there on the dance floor," Blaise told her, grinning, and Pansy mock-pouted. "But in some of them they dance up close enough together they might as well be." Pansy had a thoughtful look on her face, and Cassiopeia wondered just how long it would take Pansy to go to a muggle club. Probably less than a week. 

"I'm sure your mother didn't kick you out of the house over your nocturnal activities, or your spending habits." Theo countered. 

"She didn't kick me out!" Blaise countered defensively, then went on, "I'm just not interested in dealing with her bending my ear about my unacceptable choices of late," He let out a long, defeated sigh. "She's not happy about who she caught in my bed." He looked down at his glass. 

"Called it," Pansy smiled as she leaned forward. "Pay up, Theo," she held out a hand. "I told you he was seeing someone." She ignored Blaise's indigent 'what!?' as she gestured for Theo to hand something over. After a long moment, Theo rolled his eyes and pulled a seemingly small bag out of his pocket, pulling a hundred galleons out quickly, in ten-galleon denomination units, tossing the coins into Pansy's waiting hand lightly, a bit of nonverbal, wandless magic floating them into place.

"What did you think I was fighting with mother about?" Blaise turned to Theo, his expression somewhere between annoyed and amused.  
  
"I figured she was pressuring you to get married and have kids. Merlin knows we're all at the right age for parents to be doing that, under normal circumstances," Theo leaned back into his chair. He at least, was safe from that, since his mother was dead and his father had a life term in Azkaban - and unlike the rest of them, Theo's relationship with his father had been quite simple.

"My mother's been dropping hints," Pansy confirmed, slipping the money into a 'small' bag of her own.

"Last time I checked, your mother has been dropping hints since you were eleven?" Blaise corrected. He looked over at Cassiopeia. "She's going to suggest it to your mom again, once she finds out you're cybelean." An official agreement had been in the works shortly before the battle at the Department of Mysteries, and at that point the Parkinsons had dropped the proposal. Which was the best for all involved - neither Cassiopeia nor Pansy had inclinations of that sort for one another.  
  
Pansy telling her parents she was sapphic had of course ended all chances of such an arrangement when they still thought the Malfoy heir was a boy.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Pansy made a gagging sound. "But if you want to get technical, I'm sure she started planning my wedding the moment she knew she was having a girl," She looked back at Blaise. "But no more changing the subject - who on Earth are you seeing that's got your mother this upset? She wouldn't be lecturing you over a one night stand, and the fact that you keep trying to avoid telling us..."  
  
"It's not Weasley, is it?" Cassiopeia grimaced even at the thought, but who else would Blaise be this cagey about.  
  
"Of course not... I mean, I'll grant he's a lot less gangly these days, and looks pretty fit in his Auror's robes..." Blaise started. Cassiopeia put her hands over her ears. Even Pansy didn't seem entirely thrilled to hear about Weasley's 'fitness'

"Don't even -" she started, then cut herself off at the way Blaise was grinning. "You're having me on,"

"Well, not completely, but a little." Blaise waved a hand dismissively. "No, it's not Weasley. Though..." Blaise downed the contents of his glass in one quick go, letting out a long breath. "It's Longbottom-"  
  
Pansy interrupted, "No, no, Longbottom's seeing Lovegood. The two are practically joined at the hip. It's almost enough to make my teeth hurt just to see them with their public displays of how in love they are."  
  
"-and Lovegood," Blaise finished, glaring pointedly at Pansy.

Cassiopeia coughed, and had she had anything in her mouth at the time, she might have spit it out. Theo sounded like he was about to hack up a lung, the way he was coughing and clearing his throat.

"I want to make sure I heard you right. Your mother found you in bed with Longbottom _and_ Lovegood?" Cassiopeia blinked and started at her friend. Blaise was the only one of the four of them to have engaged in a _Ménage à trois_ at all, but those had all been one-night flings, or maybe weekend long affairs in some cases. 

_I would never have thought Longbottom the type._ What little Cassiopeia actually knew about the fairly free-spirited Luna Lovegood left him not particularly surprised, but...

Still.

"Yes," Blaise nodded, voice quiet. He let out another long sigh and poured himself yet another drink. "I hadn't exactly been expecting her to arrive home that morning, let alone barge into my room while we were asleep, but... she found us. And-"

"You told her it was serious," Theo surmised. "Like Pansy said, your mother wouldn't get worked up over a fling."

"I told her it _could_ be serious," Blaise corrected. "In so many words. Mother didn't approve." 

Cassiopeia was silent as she looked at her friend, trying to process that information. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to her, on several levels, but she wasn't going to argue with Blaise over something like that. He knew himself and his own feelings.  
  
"How though?" Pansy was the first one to speak. "I mean... are you dating them both? And they're both dating you?" She shook her head. "I don't... how exactly does that work?"

"How does seeing anyone work?" Blaise shrugged. "Don't ask me how it happened, I didn't expect it. It _did_ start as a one night thing - apparently Luna convinced Neville the idea was a good one in the first place." He smirked a little now. "They're both _really_ good with their tongues," he added, eyebrows waggling a little.

Then he let out a breath. "But... well, it didn't stop after that night. I won't say I'm in love with them - It's only been a month, for Salazar's sake - but I like them. Neville's grown up a lot since school, and he can be pretty charming. And hold his own in a conversation. And Luna... well..." he smiled softly. "She looks at the world in an interesting way, and she's unpredictable - in a good way." He quickly clarified.

 _He's got it hard for them._ It was probably in part just that 'new relationship smell' - Cassiopeia had picked up the phrase some some of the witches and wizards he'd been friendly with in America - but it did seem Blaise felt more than just casual affection for them, from the way he spoke about them - and especially the expression on his face, his softened tone.

Cassiopeia was curious about the logistics of such a relationship, how dating two people at the same time actually worked, but...  
  
"Your mother should be happy you're happy." Cassiopeia concluded. Yes, being in a relationship like that was... well, it was the sort of thing that made gossipmongers and scandal rags thrilled to have such a thing to write about. She vaguely recalled hearing about a scandal involving cousin of Mrs. Greengrass and two half-bloods when she'd been eleven... or twelve. Cassiopeia's parents had been just about as scandalized by the triad nature of the relationship as by the fact that the woman had been in a relationship with _half-bloods_. 

"You'd think, but well, clearly not," Blaise commented, voice bitter. "Every chance she got, she was scolding me about what could happen if word got out. The scandal - as if having seven husbands dying one after another isn't scandal enough to make the Zabini name practically immune to the gossip rags."  
  
Not that Blaise's mother had actually killed all seven of her wealthy husbands. Blaise had told them all he was reasonably confident she'd killed husband number three, and possibly number 5, but apart from Blaise's father - the first and longest lasting husband - the rest had just been old, sick or otherwise in poor health and condition before their marriage to the infamous Zabini widow.

"Well, she can sod off then," Pansy rolled her eyes. She shrugged, "Seems a bit weird, but it's your business having a relationship that will probably explode in jealous acrimony," there was no bite to her words, and Blaise put a hand to his heart.

"I'm touched, Pansy, absolutely touched," he said, then laughed a moment. "So, that's my deep, dark secret."

"Not sure why you didn't just tell us sooner, but I'm with Cassiopeia and Pansy - as long as you're fine with it, I've got no issue," Theo confirmed. Blaise shrugged in regards to the question of why he hadn't said anything sooner. "Just make sure your boyfriend and girlfriend know that if they hurt you-"

"I'm not going to threaten then," Blaise interrupted. "You three can handle that yourselves, I'm sure - but make sure you don't scare them off." He glared rather pointedly at Pansy.

" _Moi?_ " Now it was Pansy's turn to put a hand to her heart, in mock dismay.

"Yes, you," Blaise confirmed. "Out of the four of us, you're the most terrifying when you want to be." Cassiopeia joined Theo in making noises of agreement. Pansy tossed a flashy but harmless sparkle of red light at Blaise with her wand, and then the four friends continued to talk for the next few hours, catching up, chatting, debating a few things, and in general, giving Cassiopeia the perfect distraction.

 _Merlin, I missed this._ Her friends had visited her many times when she'd lived in America, but it was still infrequent, and rarely did she get to see all three at once and just be in a situation where they could sit and chat and truly and completely relax around one another.

**April 25th, 2003**

**Malfoy Manor**

It was that evening that Cassiopeia was back home, and without really planning to, had found herself in her father's study again.

Her study now, she supposed.

 _I'll have to familiarize myself with all of Father's business efforts, his plans to rebuild the Malfoy Fortune and help improve the family name after... everything he did._ Much as some people mighty resent the Malfoys for their wealth, and the way that her father had used his wealth and connections to escape legal punishment after the first war, the fact remained - money talked.

And a lot of money said a lot.

Charitable donations made a significant outlay of the Malfoy family's funds, and Cassiopeia would have to be the one to start fielding requests for donations, at least some of them. Her mother would be no doubt happy to - for the moment - continue managing the charity galas, the fundraisers and the like, but it wouldn be irresponsible of Cassiopeia to surrender all management of it to her mother.

"And it will take a lot of it to make up for everything," Cassiopeia muttered to herself, walking to her father's desk. She looked at the chair, remembering all the times she'd seen her father sitting in it, while growing up, or when coming back from school for Christmas break, or for summer, and filling him in on everything that had happened to her in the preceding months.  
  
She couldn't imagine herself sitting in it... it was _his_ chair, and she was certainly not ready to fill his place.

In order to keep making donations, they'd have to keep making profitable investments and profitable deals, and if Cassiopeia was going to reclaim her family's rightful spot as the most wealthy family in Wizarding Britain...

Well, she'd have a lot of work cut out for her.

"Mippy!" She called out, and the house elf in question appeared before her.  
  
"Yes, Mistress Cassiopeia?" 

"Have this chair taken to storage and bring another one to replace. I don't especially care what," She gestured to the chair in question, and Mippy nodded.  
  
"Of course. Anything else?" He asked.  
  
"Yes... bring me a bottle of wine, and a glass." If she was going to start digging into her father's work, she'd need something to fortify her. 

"Which wine would mistress like?"  
  
Cassiopeia frowned, debating for a moment, "Cabarnet Sauvignon," she decided. Mippy nodded and disappeared with another popping sound after touching the chair, taking it with him. Cassiopeia started to look around the study, examining the books and some of the statuettes and small sculptures on the shelves. She ran her finger down a few of the spines, some of the books ones she'd always wanted to read, but hadn't gotten around to. Still...  
  
She didn't think she needed some of these books in the study. Most of them could go back to the Manor's library, though she wasn't going to sort through them right now and figure out what could stay and what couldn't.  
  
Slowly, she approached the desk, and opened one of the drawers, pulling out several sheafs of parchment and setting them on the desk. She was about to open another when Mippy reappeared with a chair floating in front of him, which he set where the previous chair had been. In design, it was much like the last one, but the back was a slightly rounder shape, and the fabric of the cushing on the seat and the back was grey rather than dark green.  
  
With Mippy was Nipsy, who floated a wine glass and a bottle of Cabarnet Sauvingnon onto the desk.

"Thank you," she nodded to the house elves, who bowed back and vanished from the room after Cassiopeia gestured that they were dismissed. Popping the cork with a wave of her want, Cassiopeia poured herself a glass of the wine and brought it up to her nose as she sat down in the chair.  
  
She took a sip of the wine, letting the flavors wash over and then rest on her tongue, savoring, before finishing the sip and setting the glass down.  
  
Picking the first pile of papers, Cassiopeia found that it was financial information on many of the properties the Malfoy family already owned - rental income, assessed value, other means of income. Cassiopeia went over them, familiarizing herself with parts of the family's financial portfolio she'd never really bothered with.  
  
She sipped at her wine again, and moved onto the next sheaf, looking over what turned out to be charitable donation records for recent efforts over the last few years, either directed by Cassiopeia's father or - before he came out of Azkaban - her mother.  
  
But amongst those were also a number of letters outright _rejecting_ the offer of the Malfoy's money. Some were polite, and regretful, but a few were much more direct, with statements like 'how dare your family try to wash away their past crimes with their money?' and 'your sentence in Azkaban was not long enough' jumping off the page as if glowing. Even one letter suggested that 'people like you are exactly why the Ministry started using the Dementor's Kiss!'

Cassiopeia swallowed and set the letters aside. Her father had written notes in the margins of the letters, noting that the organizations and charities in question were to be added to lists of organizations to never be donated to, or supported even indirectly. 

"Merlin, Father, you screwed things up so bad people were actually rejecting _free money_." Some of the vicious ones... they hadn't been put in with the hate mail that had been given over to Granger, but perhaps they should as well. "On the other hand," she mused, "you pissed off so many people I can't imagine it would really add anyone else to the list." People on the side of 'light' hated Lucius Malfoy for fighting for Voldemort not once, but twice, and then managing to turn state's evidence against many others and getting a reduced sentence, while his wife and child got off without any sentence at all.

Those few who had fought openly for You-Know-Who that were free right now were mostly those who had done very little actual crimes on the Dark Lord's behalf, or who had, like Cassiopeia's father, turned against their own at court. But there were plenty who had sympathized with Voldemort and his cause, but hadn't fought openly.

Like Parkinson's father. Not that Cassiopia expected Earl Parkinson to actually be the killer. The man didn't have it in him - he was, at best, too self-interested to do something like that. At worst, he was a slimy coward.

_I suppose in some ways, he was a better Slytherin than father._

Cassiopeia stopped as that thought passed through her brain, a sheet of parchment in her hand, halfway off the desk. She turned her head to the side, thinking those word over, and realized...

They were **true.**  
  
Cassiopeia barked a humorless laugh, scoffing afterwards. She set the parchment down and sipped from her wine again, holding the glass in her hand as she settled into the back of the chair.

"He really was. Merlin help me, Parkinson - slimy, cowardly, weasel-like Parkinson was a better Slytherin. Sure, he had to pay some fines for supporting Voldemort financially, but he didn't suffer anything like we did. He didn't go to prison. And the Parkinsons are still openly beloved by polite pureblood society." She shook her head in wonderment. Pansy would always have done great things for the Parkinson family once she took over, but the late Lucius Malfoy had possibly done more than any other single witch or wizard had to raise the standing of the Parkinson family thus far.

"The late, _unlamented_ Lucius Malfoy, in the eyes of most people in the world, I'm sure," Cassiopeia murmured sourerly. 

"And meanwhile, you, Father, were busy tying our fate to a deranged self-obsessed maniac who cared for nothing short of his own power. A man who, for all that he shouted about pureblood supremacy, wasn't even a pureblood himself. And you do this a second time after spending the first 14 years of my life telling me that Malfoys bow to no one!" Cassiopeia was nearly shouting now, her complicated feelings about her father boiling over into all the things she'd never really gotten to truly have out with him. 

And since she didn't even have a portrait to talk to because her arrogant father hadn't even thought to get one made since coming back from Azkaban, she'd never get any closure on this.

"But bowing to him was okay? Serving that monster was a good idea? Mass murder seemed like such a rational solution to the 'mudblood problem', didn't it? It must have, because you served him. You created a situation where I had to get this fucking mark on my arm and practically sell him my soul to keep Mother from being tortured and killed!" Cassiopeia sipped at her wine again, the motion jerky, stilted and angry.  
  
"And the best part, the best part is that Tom Marvollo Riddle, Lord _fucking_ Voldemort himself," she was too heated not to stop herself from saying his name, the words rising all but unbidden from her lips,"was a shit Slytherin, even worse than _you_ , Father!"

"Because that's just it. Malfoys are always Slytherins. That's what you told me before I went to Hogwarts that first year. Every Lord and Lady Malfoy, a Slytherin. The Slytherin values of cunning and ambition, the values of the Malfoy family. Always loyal to our own. Subtly accumulating power, operating behind the scenes. You could have been Minister of Magic, instead of that idiot Fudge, but you knew that the real power to power was from behind the scenes." Cassiopeia stood, facing the unlit fireplace and the mantelpiece above it.  
  
"Which makes it all the more hilarious that Riddle, your precious Dark Lord, the man who you thought deserved your loyalty and who returned exactly none of it, was, his vaunted heritage aside, a damned _Gryffindor!_ " As she shouted those words, she threw the glass of wine, still half full, at the mantelpiece, watching the glass shatter and the red wine trail down the black marble and onto the base of the fireplace.  
  
"What was it all for, Father?" She asked, her voice shaking, quiet now. She fell back into the chair, staring blankly ahead. "What was so important you thought you had to follow **_him_** to do it?"

"What was it all for?" She asked again. "Whatever you hoped to accomplish... you didn't. You just... ruined... so much. And now..."  
  
She choked up and fought back tears.  
  
"And now you're dead, and I'm left trying to run things and -" She cut herself off and covered her eyes a moment, wiping the few bits of water that formed in the corners away before they could slide down her face.  
  
"This isn't how it was supposed to go," she whispered. She was supposed to come visit her parents some time, and then... after dancing around the topic with him, she and her father would have it out, once and for all, and she'd get the closest to an apology she could get from him, and then by the time he eventually died or stepped down from running the family's finances, she'd have learned all the ins and outs from him. She'd already be familiar with the family's financial portfolio.  
  
She sat there, breathing heavily for a minute, then looked to the bottle of wine.

"Nipsy!" Cassiopeia called out. When the House Elf appeared,she spoke again, voice thick. "Another glass... and..." she gestured towards the glass and wine all over the mantelpiece and fireplace. "Clean that up."  
  
"Of course Mistress Cassiopeia," Nipsy nodded. She cleaned up the mess with a silent wave of her hands, and then vanished and reappeared with another glass, which Cassiopeia accepted before silently dismissing her again. She poured more wine into the new glass, and sipped, ignoring the unsorted parchements on her desk and opening another drawer.  
  
The drawer contained more paperwork, which made sense, but... something seemed off about it. It took her a moment to realize that the reason it felt off was because it had been charmed with an undetectable extension charm. She pushed her hand further into the back. It wasn't like her father at all to do something like that to his desk, charms like that could play merry hell with more conventional wards. Finally, she lighted on a sealed envelope, the Malfoy Crest pressed into the wax. But of course, the wax wasn't what was really sealing it. She recognized the runes etched around the wax, completing the magical side of the seal.  
  
Only a Malfoy by blood could open it, and even then, only when they spoke the password while doing so. It was a spell passed down within the family, generation to generation, one of the most powerful wards you could put on something.

But sealing it required spilling one's own blood, and it was quite draining to cast. Her father had always told her only to use it on things that truly had to be kept absolutely secret from people outside the family.

"What was so important, Father?" She asked again, a hit of wonder in her voice now. "What were you hiding?"


End file.
